rr. 


ART 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
ROBERT  B.  HONEYMAN,  JR. 


ffa,     /fe**7 


&> 


/fl 


FRONTIER  STORIES 


BY 


BRET   HARTE 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND    COMPANY 


1887 


Copyright,  1882,  1883,  1884, 1885,  and  1887, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 

•: 

FLIP:  A  CALIFORNIA  ROMANCE i 

FOUND  AT  BLAZING  STAR 55 

V    IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS      95 

AT  THE  MISSION  OF  SAN  CARMEL 223 

A  BLUE-GRASS  PENELOPE 267 

LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAR  MOUNTAIN 335 

A  SHIP  OF  '49 •    •    •  367 


flip:  a  California  IRomance* 

CHAPTER   I. 

JUST  where  the  red  track  of  the  Los  Gatos  road  streams 
on  and  upward  like  the  sinuous  trail  of  a  fiery  rocket  un 
til  it  is  extinguished  in  the  blue  shadows  of  the  Coast 
Range,  there  is  an  embayed  terrace  near  the  summit, 
hedged  by  dwarf  firs.  At  every  bend  of  the  heat-laden 
road  the  eye  rested  upon  it  wistfully ;  all  along  the  flank 
of  the  mountain,  which  seemed  to  pant  and  quiver  in  the 
oven-like  air,  through  rising  dust,  the  slow  creaking  of 
dragging  wheels,  the  monotonous  cry  of  tired  springs,  and 
the  muffled  beat  of  plunging  hoofs,  it  held  out  a  promise 
of  sheltered  coolness  and  green  silences  beyond.  Sun 
burned  and  anxious  faces  yearned  toward  it  from  the 
dizzy,  swaying  tops  of  stage-coaches,  from  lagging  teams 
far  below,  from  the  blinding  white  canvas  covers  of 
"  mountain  schooners,"  and  from  scorching  saddles  that 
seemed  to  weigh  down  the  scrambling,  sweating  animals 
beneath.  But  it  would  seem  that  the  hope  was  vain,  the 
promise  illusive.  When  the  terrace  was  reached  it  ap 
peared  not  only  to  have  caught  and  gathered  all  the  heat 
of  the  valley  below,  but  to  have  evolved  a  fire  of  its  own 
from  some  hidden  crater-like  source  unknown.  Never 
theless,  instead  of  prostrating  and  enervating  man  and 
beast,  it  was  said  to  have  induced  the  wildest  exaltation. 
The  heated  air  was  filled  and  stifling  with  resinous  exha 
lations.  The  delirious  spices  of  balm,  bay,  spruce,  juni 
per,  yerba  buena,  wild  syringa,  and  strange  aromatic 


2  Flip  :  A  California  Romance. 

herbs  as  yet  unclassified,  distilled  and  evaporated  in  that 
mighty  heat,  and  seemed  to  fire  with  a  midsummer  mad 
ness  all  who  breathed  their  fumes.  They  stung,  smarted, 
stimulated,  intoxicated.  It  was  said  that  the  most  jaded 
and  foot-sore  horses  became  furious  and  ungovernable 
under  their  influence  ;  wearied  teamsters  and  muleteers, 
who  had  exhausted  their  profanity  in  the  ascent,  drank 
fresh  draughts  of  inspiration  in  this  fiery  air,  extended 
their  vocabulary,  and  created  new  and  startling  forms 
of  objurgation.  It  is  recorded  that  one  bibulous  stage- 
driver  exhausted  description  and  condensed  its  virtues  in 
a  single  phrase  :  "  Gin  and  ginger."  This  felicitous  epi 
thet,  flung  out  in  a  generous  comparison  with  his  favorite 
drink,  "rum  and  gum,"  clung  to  it  ever  after. 

Such  was  the  current  comment  on  this  vale  of  spices. 
Like  most  human  criticism  it  was  hasty  and  superficial. 
No  one  yet  had  been  known  to  have  penetrated  deeply 
its  mysterious  recesses.  It  was  still  far  below  the  sum 
mit  and  its  wayside  inn.  It  had  escaped  the  intruding 
foot  of  hunter  and  prospector ;  and  the  inquisitive  patrol 
of  the  county  surveyor  had  only  skirted  its  boundary.  It 
remained  for  Mr.  Lance  Harriott  to  complete  its  explo 
ration.  His  reasons  for  so  doing  were  simple.  He  had 
made  the  journey  thither  underneath  the  stage-coach,  and 
clinging  to  its  axle.  He  had  chosen  this  hazardous  mode 
of  conveyance  at  night,  as  the  coach  crept  by  his  place  of 
concealment  in  the  wayside  brush,  to  elude  the  sheriff  of 
Monterey  County  and  his  posse,  who  were  after  him.  He 
had  not  made  himself  known  to  his  fellow-passengers,  as 
they  already  knew  him  as  a  gambler,  an  outlaw,  and  a 
desperado  ;  he  deemed  it  unwise  to  present  himself  in 
his  newer  reputation  of  a  man  who  had  just  slain  a 
brother  gambler  in  a  quarrel,  and  for  whom  a  reward  was 
offered.  He  slipped  from  the  axle  as  the  stage-coach 
swirled  past  the  brushing  branches  of  fir,  and- for  an 


Flip :  A   California  Romance.  3 

instant  lay  unnoticed,  a  scarcely  distinguishable  mound 
of  dust  in  the  broken  furrows  of  the  road.  Then,  more 
like  a  beast  than  a  man,  he  crept  on  his  hands  and  knees 
into  the  steaming  underbrush.  Here  he  lay  still  until 
the  clatter  of  harness  and  the  sound  of  voices  faded  in 
the  distance.  Had  he  been  followed,  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  detect  in  that  inert  mass  of  rags  any  semblance 
to  a  known  form  or  figure.  A  hideous  reddish  mask  of 
dust  and  clay  obliterated  his  face  ;  his  hands  were  shape 
less  stumps  exaggerated  in  his  trailing  sleeves.  And 
when  he  rose,  staggering  like  a  drunken  man,  and 
plunged  wildly  into  the  recesses  of  the  wood,  a  cloud  of 
dust  followed  him,  and  pieces  and  patches  of  his  frayed 
and  rotten  garments  clung  to  the  impeding  branches. 
Twice  he  fell,  but,  maddened  and  upheld  by  the  smart 
ing  spices  and  stimulating  aroma  of  the  air,  he  kept  on 
his  course. 

Gradually  the  heat  became  less  oppressive  ;  once,  when 
he  stopped  and  leaned  exhaustedly  against  a  sapling,  he 
fancied  he  saw  the  zephyr  he  could  not  yet  feel  in  the 
glittering  and  trembling  of  leaves  in  the  distance  before 
him.  Again  the  deep  stillness  was  moved  with  a  faint 
sighing  rustle,  and  he  knew  he  must  be  nearing  the  edge 
of  the  thicket.  The  spell  of  silence  thus  broken  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  fainter,  more  musical  interruption  —  the 
glassy  tinkle  of  water !  A  step  further  his  foot  trembled 
on  the  verge  of  a  slight  ravine,  still  closely  canopied  by 
the  interlacing  boughs  overhead.  A  tiny  stream  that  he 
could  have  dammed  with  his  hand  yet  lingered  in  this 
parched  red  gash  in  the  hillside  and  trickled  into  a  deep, 
irregular,  well-like  cavity,  that  again  overflowed  and  sent 
its  slight  surplus  on.  It  had  been  the  luxurious  retreat 
of  many  a  spotted  trout ;  it  was  to  be  the  bath  of  Lance 
Harriott.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  without  re 
moving  a  single  garment,  he  slipped  cautiously  into  it,  as 


4  Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

if  fearful  of  losing  a  single  drop.  His  head  disappeared 
from  the  level  of  the  bank ;  the  solitude  was  again  un 
broken.  Only  two  objects  remained  upon  the  edge  of 
the  ravine,  —  his  revolver  and  tobacco  pouch. 

A  few  minutes  elapsed.  A  fearless  blue -jay  alighted 
on  the  bank  and  made  a  prospecting  peck  at  the  tobacco 
pouch.  It  yielded  in  favor  of  a  gopher,  who  endeavored 
to  draw  it  toward  his  hole,  but  in 'turn  gave  way  to  a  red 
squirrel,  whose  attention  was  divided,  however,  between 
the  pouch  and  the  revolver,  which  he  regarded  with  mis 
chievous  fascination.  Then  there  was  a  splash,  a  grunt,  a 
sudden  dispersion  of  animated  nature,  and  the  head  of 
Mr.  Lance  Harriott  appeared  above  the  bank.  It  was  a 
startling  transformation.  Not  only  that  he  had,  by  this 
wholesale  process,  washed  himself  and  his  light  "  drill " 
garments  entirely  clean,  but  that  he  had,  apparently  by 
the  same  operation,  morally  cleansed  himself,  and  left 
every  stain  and  ugly  blot  of  his  late  misdeeds  and  repu 
tation  in  his  bath.  His  face,  albeit  scratched  here  and 
there,  was  rosy,  round,  shining  with  irrepressible  good- 
humor  and  youthful  levity.  His  large  blue  eyes  were  in 
fantine  in  their  innocent  surprise  and  thoughtlessness. 
Dripping  yet  with  water,  and  panting,  he  rested  his  el 
bows  lazily  on  the  bank,  and  became  instantly  absorbed 
with  a  boy's  delight  in  the  movements  of  the  gopher,  who, 
after  the  first  alarm,  returned  cautiously  to  abduct  the 
tobacco  pouch.  If  any  familiar  had  failed  to  detect 
Lance  Harriott  in  this  hideous  masquerade  of  dust  and 
grime  and  tatters,  still  less  would  any  passing  stranger 
have  recognized  in  this  blonde  faun  the  possible  outcast 
and  murderer.  And  when  with  a  swirl  of  his  spattering 
sleeve  he  drove  back  the  gopher  in  a  shower  of  spray 
and  leaped  to  the  bank,  he  seemed  to  have  accepted  his 
felonious  hiding-place  as  a  mere  picnicking  bower. 

A  slight  breeze  was  unmistakably  permeating  the  wood 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.  5 

from  the  west.  Looking  in  that  direction,  Lance  imag 
ined  that  the  shadow  was  less  dark,  and  although  the  un 
dergrowth  was  denser,  he  struck  off  carelessly  toward  it. 
As  he  went  on,  the  wood  became  lighter  and  lighter ; 
branches,  and  presently  leaves,  were  painted  against  the 
vivid  blue  of  the  sky.  He  knew  he  must  be  near  the 
summit,  stopped,  felt  for  his  revolver,  and  then  lightly 
put  the  few  remaining  branches  aside. 

The  full  glare  of  the  noonday  sun  at  first  blinded  him. 
When  he  could  see  more  clearly,  he  found  himself  on  the 
open  western  slope  of  the  mountain,  which  in  the  Coast 
Range  was  seldom  wooded.  The  spiced  thicket  stretched 
between  him  and  the  summit,  and  again  between  him  and 
the  stage  road  that  plunges  from  the  terrace,  like  forked 
lightning  into  the  valley  below.  He  could  command  all 
the  approaches  without  being  seen.  Not  that  this  seemed 
to  occupy  his  thoughts  or  cause  him  any  anxiety.  His 
first  act  was  to  disencumber  himself  of  his  tattered  coat ; 
he  then  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe,  and  stretched  himself 
full-length  on  the  open  hillside,  as  if  to  bleach  in  the 
fierce  sun.  While  smoking  he  carelessly  perused  the 
fragment  of  a  newspaper  which  had  enveloped  his  to 
bacco,  and  being  struck  with  some  amusing  paragraph, 
read  it  half  aloud  again  to  some  imaginary  auditor,  empha 
sizing  its  humor  with  an  hilarious  slap  upon  his  leg. 

Possibly  from  the  relaxation  of  fatigue  and  the  bath, 
which  had  become  a  vapor  one  as  he  alternately  rolled 
and  dried  himself  in  the  baking  grass,  his  eyes  closed 
dreamily.  He  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  voices. 
They  were  distant ;  they  were  vague ;  they  approached 
no  nearer.  He  rolled  himself  to  the  verge  of  the  first 
precipitous  grassy  descent.  There  was  another  bank  or 
plateau  below  him,  and  then  a  confused  depth  of  olive 
shadows,  pierced  here  and  there  by  the  spiked  helmets 
of  pines.  There  was  no  trace  of  habitation,  yet  the 


6  Flip:  A   California  Romance. 

voices  were  those  of  some  monotonous  occupation,  and 
Lance  distinctly  heard  through  them  the  click  of  crock 
ery  and  the  ring  of  some  household  utensil.  It  appeared 
to  be  the  interjectional,  half  listless,  half  perfunctory,  do 
mestic  dialogue  of  an  old  man  and  a  girl,  of  which  the 
words  were  unintelligible.  Their  voices  indicated  the 
solitude  of  the  mountain,  but  without  sadness  ;  they  were 
mysterious  without  being  awe-inspiring.  They  might 
have  uttered  the  dreariest  commonplaces,  but,  in  their 
vast  isolation,  they  seemed  musical  and  eloquent.  Lance 
drew  his  first  sigh,  —  they  had  suggested  dinner. 

Careless  as  his  nature  was,  he  was  too  cautious  to  risk 
detection  in  broad  daylight.  He  contented  himself  for 
the  present  with  endeavoring  to  locate  that  particular 
part  of  the  depths  from  which  the  voices  seemed  to  rise. 
It  was  more  difficult,  however,  to  select  some  other  way 
of  penetrating  it  than  by  the  stage  road.  "  They  're 
bound  to  have  a  fire  or  show  a  light  when  it 's  dark,"  he 
reasoned,  and,  satisfied  with  that  reflection,  lay  down 
again.  Presently  he  began  to  amuse  himself  by  tossing 
some  silver  coins  in  the  air.  Then  his  attention  was  di 
rected  to  a  spur  of  the  Coast  Range  which  had  been 
sharply  silhouetted  against  the  cloudless  western  sky. 
Something  intensely  white,  something  so  small  that  it 
was  scarcely  larger  than  the  silver  coin  in  his  hand,  was 
appearing  in  a  slight  cleft  of  the  range. 

While  he  looked  it  gradually  filled  and  obliterated  the 
cleft.  In  another  moment  the  whole  serrated  line  of 
mountain  had  disappeared.  The  dense,  dazzling  white, 
encompassing  host  began  to  pour  over  and  down  every 
ravine  and  pass  of  the  coast.  Lance  recognized  the  sea- 
fog,  and  knew  that  scarcely  twenty  miles  away  lay  the 
ocean  —  and  safety  !  The  drooping  sun  was  now  caught 
and  hidden  in  its  soft  embraces.  A  sudden  chill  breathed 
over  the  mountain.  He  shivered,  rose,  and  plunged 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.  7 

again  for  very  warmth  into  the  spice-laden  thicket.  The 
heated  balsamic  air  began  to  affect  him  like  a  powerful 
sedative ;  his  hunger  was  forgotten  in  the  languor  of  fa 
tigue  :  he  slumbered.  When  he  awoke  it  was  dark.  He 
groped  his  way  through  the  thicket.  A  few  stars  were 
shining  directly  above  him,  but  beyond  and  below,  every 
thing  was  lost  in  the  soft,  white,  fleecy  veil  of  fog. 
Whatever  light  or  fire  might  have  betokened  human  habi 
tation  was  hidden.  To  push  on  blindly  would  be  mad 
ness  ;  he  could  only  wait  for  morning.  It  suited  the 
outcast's  lazy  philosophy.  He  crept  back  again  to  his 
bed  in  the  hollow  and  slept.  In  that  profound  silence 
and  shadow,  shut  out  from  human  association  and  sym 
pathy  by  the  ghostly  fog,  what  torturing  visions  conjured 
up  by  remorse  and  fear  should  have  pursued  him  ?  What 
spirit  passed  before  him,  or  slowly  shaped  itself  out  of 
the  infinite  blackness  of  the  wood  ?  None.  As  he 
slipped  gently  into  that  blackness  he  remembered  with 
a  slight  regret,  some  biscuits  that  were  dropped  from  the 
coach  by  a  careless  luncheon-consuming  passenger. 
That  pang  over,  he  slept  as  sweetly,  as  profoundly,  as 
divinely,  as  a  child. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HE  awoke  with  the  aroma  of  the  woods  still  steeping 
his  senses.  His  first  instinct  was  that  of  all  young  ani 
mals  :  he  seized  a  few  of  the  young,  tender  green  leaves 
of  the  yerba  buena  vine  that  crept  over  his  mossy  pillow 
and  ate  them,  being  rewarded  by  a  half  berry-like  flavor 
that  seemed  to  soothe  the  cravings  of  his  appetite.  The 
languor  of  sleep  being  still  upon  him,  he  lazily  watched 
the  quivering  of  a  sunbeam  that  was  caught  in  the  canopy 
ing  boughs  above.  Then  he  dozed  again.  Hovering  be 
tween  sleeping  and  waking,  he  became  conscious  of  a 
slight  movement  among  the  dead  leaves  on  the  bank  be 
side  the  hollow  in  which  he  lay.  The  movement  appeared 
to  be  intelligent,  and  directed  toward  his  revolver,  which 
glittered  on  the  bank.  Amused  at  this  evident  return  of 
his  larcenious  friend  of  the  previous  day,  he  lay  perfectly 
still.  The  movement  and  rustle  continued,  and  it  now 
seemed  long  and  undulating.  Lance's  eyes  suddenly  be 
came  set ;  he  was  intensely,  keenly  awake.  It  was  not  a 
snake,  but  the  hand  of  a  human  arm,  half  hidden  in  the 
moss,  groping  for  the  weapon.  In  that  flash  of  perception 
he  saw  that  it  was  small,  bare,  and  deeply  freckled.  In 
an  instant  he  grasped  it  firmly,  and  rose  to  his  feet,  drag 
ging  to  his  own  level  as  he  did  so,  the  struggling  figure  of 
a  young  girl. 

"  Leave  me  go  !  "  she  said,  more  ashamed  than  fright 
ened. 

Lance  looked  at  her.  She  was  scarcely  more  than 
fifteen,  slight  and  lithe,  with  a  boyish  flatness  of  breast 
and  back.  Her  flushed  face  and  bare  throat  were  abso- 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.  9 

lutely  peppered  with  minute  brown  freckles,  like  grains  of 
spent  gunpowder.  Her  eyes,  which  were  large  and  gray, 
presented  the  singular  spectacle  of  being  also  freckled, — 
at  least  they  were  shot  through  in  pupil  and  cornea  with 
tiny  spots  like  powdered  allspice.  Her  hair  was  even 
more  remarkable  in  its  tawny  deer-skin  color,  full  of 
lighter  shades,  and  bleached  to  the  faintest  of  blondes  on 
the  crown  of  her  head,  as  if  by  the  action  of  the  sun. 
She  had  evidently  outgrown  her  dress,  which  was  made 
for  a  smaller  child,  and  the  too  brief  skirt  disclosed  a  bare, 
freckled,  and  sandy  desert  of  shapely  limb,  for  which  the 
darned  stockings  were  equally  too  scant.  Lance  let  his 
grasp  slip  from  her  thin  wrist  to  her  hand,  and  then  with 
a  good-humored  gesture  tossed  it  lightly  back  to  her. 

She  did  not  retreat,  but  continued  looking  at  him  in  a 
half-surly  embarrassment. 

"  I  ain't  a  bit  frightened,"  she  said  ;  "  I  'm  not  going  to 
run  away,  —  don't  you  fear." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Lance,  with  unmistakable  satis 
faction,  "but  why  did  you  go  for  my  revolver  ?  " 

She  flushed  again  and  was  silent.  Presently  she  be 
gan  to  kick  the  earth  at  the  roots  of  the  tree,  and  said,  as 
if  confidentially  to  her  foot : 

"  I  wanted  to  get  hold  of  it  before  you  did." 

"You  did?  — and  why?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  why." 

Every  tooth  in  Lance's  head  showed  that  he  did,  per 
fectly.  But  he  was  discreetly  silent. 

"  I  did  n't  know  what  you  were  hiding  there  for,"  she 
went  on,  still  addressing  the  tree,  "and,"  looking  at  him 
sideways  under  her  white  lashes,  "  I  did  n't  see  your 
face." 

This  subtle  compliment  was  the  first  suggestion  of  her 
artful  sex.  It  actually  sent  the  blood  into  the  careless 
rascal's  face,  and  for  a  moment  confused  him.  He 


io          Flip :  A   California  Romance. 

coughed.  "  So  you  thought  you  'd  freeze  on  to  that  six- 
shooter  of  mine  until  you  saw  my  hand? " 

She  nodded.  Then  she  picked  up  a  broken  hazel 
branch,  fitted  it  into  the  small  of  her  back,  threw  her 
tanned  bare  arms  over  the  ends  of  it,  and  expanded  her 
chest  and  her  biceps  at  the  same  moment.  This  simple 
action  was  supposed  to  convey  an  impression  at  once  of 
ease  and  muscular  force. 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  take  it  now,"  said  Lance,  hand 
ing  her  the  pistol. 

"  I  've  seen  six-shooters  before  now,"  said  the  girl,  evad 
ing  the  proffered  weapon  and  its  suggestion.  "  Dad  has 
one,  and  my  brother  had  two  derringers  before  he  was 
half  as  big  as  me." 

She  stopped  to  observe  in  her  companion  the  effect  of 
this  capacity  of  her  family  to  bear  arms.  Lance  only  re 
garded  her  amusedly.  Presently  she  again  spoke  ab 
ruptly  : 

"  What  made  you  eat  that  gfass,  just  now  ? " 

"  Grass  !  "  echoed  Lance. 

"  Yes,  there,"  pointing  to  the  yerba  buena. 

Lance  laughed.  "  I  was  hungry.  Look  ! "  he  said, 
gayly  tossing  some  silver  into  the  air.  "  Do  you  think 
you  could  get  me  some  breakfast  for  that,  and  have  enough 
left  to  buy  something  for  yourself  ? " 

The  girl  eyed  the  money  and  the  man  with  half-bashful 
curiosity. 

"  I  reckon  Dad  might  give  ye  suthing  if  he  had  a  mind 
ter,  though  ez  a  rule  he  's  down  on  tramps  ever  since  they 
run  off  his  chickens.  Ye  might  try." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  try.     You  can  bring  it  to  me  here." 

The  girl  retreated  a  step,  dropped  her  eyes,  and,  with  a 
smile  that  was  a  charming  hesitation  between  bashfulness 
and  impudence,  said :  "  So  you  are  hidin',  are  ye  ?  " 

"  That's  just  it.  Your  head 's  level.  I  am,"  laughed 
Lance  unconcernedly. 


Flip :  A   California  Romance.          1 1 

"  Yur  ain't  one  o'  the  McCarthy  gang  —  are  ye  ?  " 

Mr.  Lance  Harriott  felt  a  momentary  moral  exaltation 
in  declaring  truthfully  that  he  was  not  one  of  a  notorious 
band  of  mountain  freebooters  known  in  the  district  under 
that  name. 

"  Nor  ye  ain't  one  of  them  chicken  lifters  that  raided 
Henderson's  ranch  ?  We  don't  go  much  on  that  kind  o' 
cattle  yer." 

"  No,"  said  Lance,  cheerfully. 

"  Nor  ye  ain't  that  chap  ez  beat  his  wife  unto  death 
at  Santa  Clara  ?  " 

Lance  honestly  scorned  the  imputation.  Such  con 
jugal  ill  treatment  as  he  had  indulged  in  had  not  been 
physical,  and  had  been  with  other  men's  wives. 

There  was  a  moment's  further  hesitation  on  the  part 
of  the  girl.  Then  she  said  shortly  : 

"  Well,  then,  I  reckon  you  kin  come  along  with  me." 

"  Where  ? "  asked  Lance. 

"  To  the  ranch,"  she  replied  simply. 

"  Then  you  won't  bring  me  anything  to  eat  here  ?  " 

"What  for?  You  kin  get  it  down  there."  Lance  hesi 
tated.  "  I  tell  you  it 's  all  right,"  she  continued.  "  I  '11 
make  it  all  right  with  Dad." 

"  But  suppose  I  reckon  I  }d  rather  stay  here,"  persisted 
Lance,  with  a  perfect  consciousness,  however,  of  affecta 
tion  in  his  caution. 

"  Stay  away  then,"  said  the  girl  coolly ;  "  only  as  Dad 
perempted  this  yer  woods  "  — 

"  Preempted, "  suggested  Lance. 

"Per-empted  or  pre-emp-ted,  as  you  like,"  continued 
the  girl  scornfully,  — "  ez  he 's  got  a  holt  on  this  yer 
woods,  ye  might  ez  well  see  him  down  thar  ez  here.  For 
here  he  's  like  to  come  any  minit.  You  can  bet  your  life 
on  that." 

She  must  have  read  Lance's  amusement  in  his  eyes, 


12          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

for  she  again  dropped  her  own  with  a  frown  of  brusque 
embarrassment.  "  Come  along,  then  ;  I  'm  your  man," 
said  Lance,  gayly,  extending  his  hand. 

She  would  not  accept  it,  eying  it,  however,  furtively, 
like  a  horse  about  to  shy.  "  Hand  me  your  pistol  first," 
she  said. 

He  handed  it  to  her  with  an  assumption  of  gayety. 
She  received  it  on  her  part  with  unfeigned  seriousness, 
and  threw  it  over  her  shoulder  like  a  gun.  This  com 
bined  action  of  the  child  and  heroine,  it  is  quite  unneces 
sary  to  say,  afforded  Lance  undiluted  joy. 

"  You  go  first,"  she  said. 

Lance  stepped  promptly  out,  with  a  broad  grin. 
"  Looks  kinder  as  if  I  was  a  pris'ner,  don't  it  ?  "  he  sug 
gested. 

"  Go  on,  and  don't  fool,"  she  replied. 

The  two  fared  onward  through  the  wood.  For  one 
moment  he  entertained  the  facetious  idea  of  appearing 
to  rush  frantically  away,  "just  to  see  what  the  girl  would 
do,"  but  abandoned  it.  "  It 's  an  even  thing  if  she 
would  n't  spot  me  the  first  pop,"  he  reflected  admiringly. 

When  they  had  reached  the  open  hillside,  Lance 
stopped  inquiringly.  "This  way,"  she  said,  pointing 
toward  the  summit,  and  in  quite  an  opposite  direction  to 
the  valley  where  he  had  heard  the  voices,  one  of  which 
he  now  recognized  as  hers.  They  skirted  the  thicket  for 
a  few  moments,  and  then  turned  sharply  into  a  trail 
which  began  to  dip  toward  a  ravine  leading  to  the  valley. 

"  Why  do  you  have  to  go  all  the  way  round  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  We  don't,"  the  girl  replied  with  emphasis ;  "  there's 
a  shorter  cut." 

"  Where  ? " 

"  That 's  telling,"  she  answered  shortly. 

"  What 's  your  name  ? "  asked  Lance,  after  a  steep 
scramble  and  a  drop  into  the  ravine. 


Flip:  A  California  Romance.          13 

"Flip." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Flip." 

"  I  mean  your  first  name,  —  your  front  name." 

"  Flip." 

"  Flip  !     Oh,  short  for  Felipa  !  " 

"  It  ain't  Flipper,  —  it 's  Flip."  And  she  relapsed  into 
silence. 

"  You  don't  ask  me  mine  ? "  suggested  Lance. 

She  did  not  vouchsafe  a  reply. 

"Then  you  don't  want  to  know?" 

"  Maybe  Dad  will.     You  can  lie  to  him" 

This  direct  answer  apparently  sustained  the  agreeable 
homicide  for  some  moments.  He  moved  onward,  silently 
exuding  admiration. 

"Only,"  added  Flip,  with  a  sudden  caution,  "you'd 
better  agree  with  me." 

The  trail  here  turned  again  abruptly  and  reentered 
the  canon.  Lance  looked  up,  and  noticed  they  were  al 
most  directly  beneath  the  bay  thicket  and  the  plateau 
that  towered  far  above  them.  The  trail  here  showed 
signs  of  clearing,  and  the  way  was  marked  by  felled  trees 
and  stumps  of  pines. 

"What  does  your  father  do  here?"  he  finally  asked. 
Flip  remained  silent,  swinging  the  revolver.  Lance  re 
peated  his  question. 

"Burns  charcoal  and  makes  diamonds,"  said  Flip, 
looking  at  him  from  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 

"  Makes  diamonds  ? "  echoed  Lance. 

Flip  nodded  her  head. 

"  Many  of  'em  ? "  he  continued  carelessly. 

"Lots.  But  they're  not  big,"  she  returned,  with  a 
sidelong  glance. 

"  Oh,  they  're  not  big?  "  said  Lance  gravely. 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  a  small  staked  inclos- 


14          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

ure,  whence  the  sudden  fluttering  and  cackle  of  poultry 
welcomed  the  return  of  the  evident  mistress  of  this  sylvan 
retreat.  It  was  scarcely  imposing.  Further  on,  a  cook 
ing  stove  under  a  tree,  a  saddle  and  bridle,  a  few  house 
hold  implements  scattered  about,  indicated  the  "  ranch." 
Like  most  pioneer  clearings,  it  was  simply  a  disorganized 
raid  upon  nature  that  had  left  behind  a  desolate  battle 
field  strewn  with  waste  and  decay.  The  fallen  trees,  the 
crushed  thicket,  the  splintered  limbs,  the  rudely  torn-up 
soil,  were  made  hideous  by  their  grotesque  juxtaposition 
with  the  wrecked  fragments  of  civilization,  in  empty  cans, 
broken  bottles,  battered  hats,  soleless  boots,  frayed  stock 
ings,  cast-off  rags,  and  the  crowning  absurdity  of  the 
twisted-wire  skeleton  of  a  hooped  skirt  hanging  from  a 
branch.  The  wildest  defile,  the  densest  thicket,  the 
most  virgin  solitude,  was  less  dreary  and  forlorn  than 
this  first  footprint  of  man.  The  only  redeeming  feature 
of  this  prolonged  bivouac  was  the  cabin  itself.  Built  of 
the  half-cylindrical  strips  of  pine  bark,  and  thatched  with 
the  same  material,  it  had  a  certain  picturesque  rusticity. 
But  this  was  an  accident  of  economy  rather  than  taste, 
for  which  Flip  apologized  by  saying  that  the  bark  of  the 
pine  was  "  no  good  "  for  charcoal. 

"  I  reckon  dad  's  in  the  woods,"  she  added,  pausing 
before  the  open  door  of  the  cabin.  "  Oh,  Dad ! "  Her 
voice,  clear  and  high,  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  long  canon, 
and  echoed  from  the  green  plateau  above.  The  monot 
onous  strokes  of  an  axe  were  suddenly  intermitted,  and 
somewhere  from  the  depths  of  the  close-set  pines  a  voice 
answered  "  Flip."  There  was  a  pause  of  a  few  moments, 
with  some  muttering,  stumbling,  and  crackling  in  the  un 
derbrush,  and  then  the  appearance  of  "Dad." 

Had  Lance  first  met  him  in  the  thicket,  he  would  have 
been  puzzled  to  assign  his  race  to  Mongolian,  Indian,  or 
Ethiopian  origin.  Perfunctory  but  incomplete  washings 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          15 

of  his  hands  and  face,  after  charcoal  burning,  had  gradu 
ally  ground  into  his  skin  a  grayish  slate-pencil  pallor, 
grotesquely  relieved  at  the  edges,  where  the  washing  had 
left  off,  with  a  border  of  a  darker  color.  He  looked  like 
an  overworked  Christy  minstrel  with  the  briefest  of  inter 
vals  between  his  performances.  There  were  black  rims 
in  the  orbits  of  his  eyes,  as  if  he  gazed  feebly  out  of  un- 
glazed  spectacles,  which  heightened  his  simian  resem 
blance,  already  grotesquely  exaggerated  by  what  ap 
peared  to  be  repeated  and  spasmodic  experiments  in  dye 
ing  his  gray  hair.  Without  the  slightest  notice  of  Lance, 
he  inflicted  his  protesting  and  querulous  presence  entirely 
on  his  daughter. 

"  Well !  what 's  up  now  ?  Yer  ye  are  calling  me  from 
work  an  hour  before  noon.  Dog  my  skin,  ef  I  ever  get 
fairly  limbered  up  afore  it 's  '  Dad  ! '  and  '  Oh,  Dad  ! '  " 

To  Lance's  intense  satisfaction  the  girl  received  this 
harangue  with  an  air  of  supreme  indifference,  and  when 
"  Dad  '  •  had  relapsed  into  an  unintelligible,  and,  as  it 
seemed  to  Lance,  a  half-frightened  muttering,  she  said 
coolly,  — 

"  Ye  'd  better  drop  that  axe  and  scoot  round  getten' 
this  stranger  some  breakfast  and  some  grub  to  take  with 
him.  He  's  one  of  them  San  Francisco  sports  out  here 
trout-fishing  in  the  branch.  He  's  got  adrift  from  his 
party,  has  lost  his  rod  and  fixins,  and  had  to  camp  out 
last  night  in  the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods/' 

"  That 's  just  it ;  it 's  allers  suthin  like  that,"  screamed 
the  old  man,  dashing  his  fist  on  his  leg  in  a  feeble,  im 
potent  passion,  but  without  looking  at  Lance.  "  Why  in 
blazes  don't  he  go  up  to  that  there  blamed  hotel  on  the 
summit  ?  Why  in  thunder  "  —  But  here  he  caught  his 
daughter's  large,  freckled  eyes  full  jn  his  own.  He 
blinked  feebly,  his  voice  fell  into  a  to«e  of  whining  en 
treaty.  "  Now,  look  yer,  Flip,  it 's  playing  it  rather  low 


1 6          Flip  :  A  California  Romance. 

down  on  the  old  man,  this  yer  running  in  o'  tramps  and 
desarted  emigrants  and  cast-ashore  sailors  and  forlorn 
widders  and  ravin'  lunatics,  on  this  yer  ranch.  I  put  it  to 
you,  Mister,"  he  said  abruptly,  turning  to  Lance  for  the 
first  time,  but  as  if  he  had  already  taken  an  active  part 
in  the  conversation,  —  "I  put  it  as  a  gentleman  yourself, 
and  a  fair-minded  sportin'  man,  if  this  is  the  square 
thing  ? " 

Before  Lance  could  reply,  Flip  had  already  begun. 
"  That 's  just  it !  D'  ye  reckon,  being  a  sportin'  man 
and  a  A  i  feller,  he  's  goin'  to  waltz  down  inter  that 
hotel,  rigged  out  ez  he  is  ?  D'  ye  reckon  he 's  goin'  to 
let  his  partners  get  the  laugh  enter  him  ?  D'  ye  reckon 
he  's  goin'  to  show  his  head  outer  this  yer  ranch  till  he 
can  do  it  square  ?  Not  much  !  Go  'long.  Dad,  you  're 
talking  silly ! " 

The  old  man  weakened.  He  feebly  trailed  his  axe  be 
tween  his  legs  to  a  stump  and  sat  down,  wiping  his  fore 
head  with  his  sleeve,  and  imparting  to  it  the  appearance 
of  a  slate  with  a  difficult  sum  partly  rubbed  out.  He 
looked  despairingly  at  Lance.  "  In  course,"  he  said,  with 
a  deep  sigh,  "you  naturally  ain't  got  any  money.  In 
course  you  left  your  pocketbook,  containing  fifty  dollars, 
under  a  stone,  and  can't  find  it.  In  course,"  he  con 
tinued,  as  he  observed  Lance  put  his  hand  to  his  pocket, 
"  you  Ve  only  got  a  blank  check  on  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co. 
for  a  hundred  dollars,  and  you  'd  like  me  to  give  you  the 
difference  ? " 

Amused  as  Lance  evidently  was  at  this,  his  absolute 
admiration  for  Flip  absorbed  everything  else.  With  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  girl,  he  briefly  assured  the  old  man 
that  he  would  pay  for  everything  he  wanted.  He  did 
this  with  a  manner  quite  different  from  the  careless,  easy 
attitude  he  had  assumed  toward  Flip ;  at  least  the  quick 
witted  girl  noticed  it,  and  wondered  if  he  was  angry.  It 


Flip :  A   California  Romance.          1 7 

was  quite  true  that  ever  since  his  eye  had  fallen  upon 
another  of  his  own  sex,  its  glance  had  been  less  frank 
and  careless.  Certain  traits  of  possible  impatience,  which 
might  develop  into  man-slaying,  were  coming  to  the  fore. 
Yet  a  word  or  a  gesture  of  Flip's  was  sufficient  to  change 
that  manner,  and  when,  with  the  fretful  assistance  of  her 
father,  she  had  prepared  a  somewhat  sketchy  and  prim 
itive  repast,  he  questioned  the  old  man  about  diamond- 
making.  The  eye  of  Dad  kindled. 

"  I  want  ter  know  how  ye  knew  I  was  making  dia 
monds,"  he  asked,  with  a  certain  bashful  pettishness  not 
unlike  his  daughter's. 

"  Heard  it  in  'Frisco,"  replied  Lance,  with  glib  men 
dacity,  glancing  at  the  girl. 

"  I  reckon  they  're  gettin'  sort  of  skeert  down  there  — 
them  jewelers,"  chuckled  Dad,  "  yet  it 's  in  nater  that 
their  riggers  will  have  to  come  down.  It 's  only  a  ques 
tion  of  the  price  of  charcoal.  I  suppose  they  did  n't  tell 
you  how  I  made  the  discovery  ? " 

Lance  would  have  stopped  the  old  man's  narrative  by 
saying  that  he  knew  the  story,  but  he  wished  to  see  how 
far  Flip  lent  herself  to  her  father's  delusion. 

"  Ye  see,  one  night  about  two  years  ago  I  had  a  pit 
o'  charcoal  burning  out  there,  and  tho'  it  had  been 
a-smouldering  and  a-smoking  and  a-blazing  for  nigh  unto 
a  month,  somehow  it  did  n't  charcoal  worth  a  cent.  And 
yet,  dog  my  skin,  but  the  heat  o'  that  er  pit  was  suthin 
hidyus  and  frightful ;  ye  could  n't  stand  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  it,  and  they  could  feel  it  on  the  stage  road  three 
miles  over  yon,  t  'other  side  the  mountain.  There  was 
nights  when  me  and  Flip  had  to  take  our  blankets  up  the 
ravine  and  camp  out  all  night,  and  the  back  of  this  yer 
hut  shriveled  up  like  that  bacon.  It  was  about  as  nigh 
on  to  hell  as  any  sample  ye  kin  get  here.  Now,  mebbe 
you  think  I  built  that  air  fire  ?  Mebbe  you  '11  allow  the 
heat  was  just  the  nat'ral  burning  of  that  pit  ?  " 


1 8          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

"Certainly,"  said  Lance,  trying  to  see  Flip's  eyes, 
which  were  resolutely  averted. 

"  Thet's  whar  you  'd  be  lyin' !  That  yar  heat  kem  out 
of  the  bowels  of  the  yearth, —  kem  up  like  out  of  a  chim- 
bley  or  a  blast,  and  kep  up  that  yar  fire.  And  when  she 
cools  down  a  month  after,  and  I  got  to  strip  her,  there 
was  a  hole  in  the  yearth,  and  a  spring  o'  bilin',  scaldin' 
water  pourin'  out  of  it  ez  big  as  your  waist.  And  right 
in  the  middle  of  it  was  this  yer."  He  rose  with  the  in 
stinct  of  a  skillful  raconteur,  and  whisked  from  under  his 
bunk  a  chamois  leather  bag,  which  he  emptied  on  the 
table  before  them.  It  contained  a  small  fragment  of  na 
tive  rock  crystal,  half-fused  upon  a  petrified  bit  of  pine. 
It  was  so  glaringly  truthful,  so  really  what  it  purported  to 
be,  that  the  most  unscientific  woodman  or  pioneer  would 
have  understood  it  at  a  glance.  Lance  raised  his  mirth 
ful  eyes  to  Flip.  - 

"  It  was  cooled  suddint, —  stunted  by  the  water,"  said 
the  girl,  eagerly.  She  stopped,  and  as  abruptly  turned 
away  her  eyes  and  her  reddened  face. 

"That's  it,  that's  just  it,"  continued  the  old  man. 
"  Thar 's  Flip,  thar,  knows  it ;  she  ain't  no  fool  !  "  Lance 
did  not  speak,  but  turned  a  hard,  unsympathizing  look 
upon  the  old  man,  and  rose  almost  roughly.  The  old  man 
clutched  his  coat.  "  That 's  it,  ye  see.  The  carbon  's 
just  turning  to  di'mens.  And  stunted.  And  why  ?  'Cos 
the  heat  was  n't  kep  up  long  enough.  Mebbe  yer  think 
I  stopped  thar  ?  That  ain't  me.  Thar 's  a  pit  out  yar  in 
the  woods  ez  hez  been  burning  six  months  ;  it  hain't,  in 
course,  got  the  advantages  o'  the  old  one,  for  it's  nat'ral 
heat.  But  I  'm  keeping  that  heat  up.  I  Ve  got  a  hole 
where  I  kin  watch  it  every  four  hours.  When  the  time 
comes,  I  'm  thar !  Don't  you  see  ?  That 's  me  !  that 's 
David  Fairley, —  that 's  the  old  man, — you  bet !  " 

"That's   so,"   said   Lance,   curtly.     "And   now,  Mr. 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          19 

Fairley,  if  you  '11  hand  me  over  a  coat  or  jacket  till  I  can 
get  past  these  fogs  on  the  Monterey  road,  I  won't  keep 
you  from  your  diamond  pit."  He  threw  down  a  handful 
of  silver  on  the  table. 

"Ther's  a  deerskin  jacket yer,"  said  the  old  man,  "that 
one  o'  them  vaqueros  left  for  the  price  of  a  bottle  of  whis 
key." 

"  I  reckon  it  would  n't  suit  the  stranger,"  said  Flip, 
dubiously  producing  a  much-worn,  slashed,  and  braided 
vaquero's  jacket.  But  it  did  suit  Lance,  who  found  it 
warm,  and  also  had  suddenly  found  a  certain  satisfaction 
in  opposing  Flip.  When  he  had  put  it  on,  and  nodded 
coldly  to  the  old  man,  and  carelessly  to  Flip,  he  walked 
to  the  door. 

"  If  you  're  going  to  take  the  Monterey  road,  I  can  show 
you  a  short  cut  to  it,"  said  Flip,  with  a  certain  kind  of  shy 
civility. 

The  paternal  Fairley  groaned.  "  That 's  it ;  let  the 
chickens  and  the  ranch  go  to  thunder,  as  long  as  there 's 
a  stranger  to  trapse  round  with ;  go  on  !  " 

Lance  would  have  made  some  savage  reply,  but  Flip 
interrupted.  "  You  know  yourself,  Dad,  it 's  a  blind  trail, 
and  as  that  'ere  constable  that  kem  out  here  hunting 
French  Pete,  could  n't  find  it,  and  had  to  go  round  by 
the  canon,  like  ez  not  the  stranger  would  lose  his  way, 
and  have  to  come  back  !  "  This  dangerous  prospect  si 
lenced  the  old  man,  and  Flip  and  Lance  stepped  into  the 
road  together.  They  walked  on  for  some  moments  with 
out  speaking.  Suddenly  Lance  turned  upon  his  com 
panion. 

"  You  did  n't  swallow  all  that  rot  about  the  diamond, 
did  you  ? "  he  asked,  crossly. 

Flip  ran  a  little  ahead,  as  if  to  avoid  a  reply. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that 's  the  sort  of  hog  wash 
the  old  man  serves  out  to  you  regularly  ? "  continued 
Lance,  becoming  more  slangy  in  his  ill  temper. 


2O          Flip :  A  California  Romance. 

"I  don't  know  that  it's  any  consarn  o' yours  what  I 
think,"  replied  Flip,  hopping  from  boulder  to  boulder,  as 
they  crossed  the  bed  of  a  dry  watercourse. 

"  And  I  suppose  you  Ve  piloted  round  and  dry-nussed 
every  tramp  and  dead-beat  you  Ve  met  since  you  came 
here,"  continued  Lance,  with  unmistakable  ill  humor. 
"  How  many  have  you  helped  over  this  road  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  year  since  there  was  a  Chinaman  chased  by 
some  Irishmen  from  the  Crossing  into  the  brush  about 
yer,  and  he  was  too  afeered  to  come  out,  and  nigh  most 
starved  to  death  in  thar.  I  had  to  drag  him  out  and 
start  him  on  the  mountain,  for  you  could  n't  get  him  back 
to  the  road.  He  was  the  last  one  but  you.9' 

"  Do  you  reckon  it 's  the  right  thing  for  a  girl  like  you 
to  run  about  with  trash  of  this  kind,  and  mix  herself  up 
with  all  sorts  of  roughs  and  bad  company  ? "  said  Lance. 

Flip  stopped  short.  "  Look  !  if  you  're  goin'  to  talk 
like  Dad,  I  '11  go  back." 

The  ridiculousness  of  ^such  a  resemblance  struck  him 
more  keenly  than  a  consciousness  of  his  own  ingratitude. 
He  hastened  to  assure  Flip  that  he  was  joking.  When  he 
had  made  his  peace  they  fell  into  talk  again,  Lance  becom 
ing  unselfish  enough  to  inquire  into  one  or  two  facts  con 
cerning  her  lift  which  did  not  immediately  affect  him. 
Her  mother  had  died  on  the  plains  when  she  was  a  baby, 
and  her  brother  had  run  away  from  home  at  twelve. 
She  fully  expected  to  see  him  again,  and  thought  he 
might  sometime  stray  into  their  canon.  "  That  is  why, 
then,  you  take  so  much  stock  in  tramps,"  said  Lance. 
"  You  expect  to  recognize  him  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  Flip,  gravely,  "  there  is  suthing  in  that, 
and  there's  suthing  in  this:  some  o'  these  chaps  might 
run  across  brother  and  do  him  a  good  turn  for  the  sake 
of  me." 

"  Like  me,  for  instance  ? "  suggested  Lance. 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          21 

"  Like  you.  You  'd  do  him  a  good  trun,  would  n't 
you?" 

"  You  bet ! "  said  Lance,  with  a  sudden  emotion  that 
quite  startled  him  ;  "  only  don't  you  go  to  throwing  your 
self  round  promiscuously."  He  was  half  conscious  of  an 
irritating  sense  of  jealousy,  as  he  asked  if  any  of  her 
protegh  had  ever  returned. 

"  No,"  said  Flip,  "  no  one  ever  did.  It  shows,"  she 
added  with  sublime  simplicity,  "I  had  done  'em  good, 
and  they  could  get  on  alone.  Don't  it  ?  " 

"  It  does,"  responded  Lance  grimly.  "  Have  you  any 
other  friends  that  come  ?  " 

"  Only  the  Postmaster  at  the  Crossing." 

"The  Postmaster?" 

"  Yes :  he 's  reckonin'  to  marry  me  next  year,  if  I  'm 
big  enough." 

"  And  what  do  you  reckon  ?  "  asked  Lance  earnestly. 

Flip  began  a  series  of  distortions  with  her  shoulders, 
ran  on  ahead,  picked  up  a  few  pebbles  and  threw  them 
into  the  wood,  glanced  back  at  Lance  with  swimming 
mottled  eyes,  that  seemed  a  piquant  incarnation  of  every 
thing  suggestive  and  tantalizing,  and  said : 

"  That 's  telling." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  spot  where  they 
were  to  separate.  "  Look,"  said  Flip,  pointing  to  a  faint 
deflection  of  their  path,  which  seemed,  however,  to  lose 
itself  in  the  underbrush  a  dozen  yards  away,  "  ther  's 
your  trail.  It  gets  plainer  and  broader  the  further  you 
get  on,  but  you  must  use  your  eyes  here,  and  get  to  know 
it  well  afore  you  get  into  the  fog.  Good-by." 

"Good-by."  Lance  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  be 
side  him.  She  was  still  redolent  of  the  spices  of  the 
thicket,  and  to  the  young  man's  excited  fancy  seemed  at 
that  moment  to  personify  the  perfume  and  intoxication  of 
her  native  woods.  Half  laughingly,  half  earnestly,  he 


22          Flip:  A   California  Romance. 

tried  to  kiss  her :  she  struggled  for  some  time  strongly, 
but  at  the  last  moment  yielded,  with  a  slight  return  and 
the  exchange  of  a  subtle  fire  that  thrilled  him,  and  left 
him  standing  confused  and  astounded  as  she  ran  away. 
He  watched  her  lithe,  nymph-like  figure  disappear  in  the 
checkered  shadows  of  the  wood,  and  then  he  turned 
briskly  down  the  half-hidden  trail.  His  eyesight  was 
keen,  he  made  good  progress,  and  was  soon  well  on  his 
way  toward  the  distant  ridge. 

But  Flip's  return  had  not  been  as  rapid.  When  she 
reached  the  wood  she  crept  to  its  beetling  verge,  and 
looking  across  the  canon  watched  Lance's  figure  as  it 
vanished  and  reappeared  in  the  shadows  and  sinuosities 
of  the  ascent.  When  he  reached  the  ridge  the  outlying 
fog  crept  across  the  summit,  caught  him  in  its  embrace, 
and  wrapped  him  from  her  gaze.  Flip  sighed,  raised 
herself,  put  her  alternate  foot  on  a  stump,  and  took  a 
long  pull  at  her  too -brief  stockings.  When  she  had 
pulled  down  her  skirt  and  endeavored  once  more  to  re 
new  the  intimacy  that  had  existed  in  previous  years  be 
tween  the  edge  of  her  petticoat  and  the  top  of  her  stock 
ings,  she  sighed  again,  and  went  home. 

' 


CHAPTER  III. 

FOR  six  months  the  sea  fogs  monotonously  came  and 
went  along  the  Monterey  coast ;  for  six  months  they  be 
leaguered  the  Coast  Range  with  afternoon  sorties  of 
white  hosts  that  regularly  swept  over  the  mountain  crest, 
and  were  as  regularly  beaten  back  again  by  the  leveled 
lances  of  the  morning  sun.  For  six  months  that  white 
veil  which  had  once  hidden  Lance  Harriott  in  its  folds 
returned  without  him.  For  that  amiable  outlaw  no  longer 
needed  disguise  or  hiding-place.  The  swift  wave  of  pur 
suit  that  had  dashed  him  on  the  summit  had  fallen  back, 
and  the  next  day  was  broken  and  scattered.  Before  the 
week  had  passed,  a  regular  judicial  inquiry  relieved  his 
crime  of  premeditation,  and  showed  it  to  be  a  nide  duel 
of  two  armed  and  equally  desperate  men.  From  a  secure 
vantage  in  a  sea-coast  town  Lance  challenged  a  trial  by 
his  peers,  and,  as  an  already  prejudged  man  escaping 
from  his  executioners,  obtained  a  change  of  venue.  Reg 
ular  justice,  seated  by  the  calm  Pacific,  found  the  action 
of  an  interior,  irregular  jury  rash  and  hasty.  Lance  was 
liberated  on  bail. 

The  Postmaster  at  Fisher's  Crossing  had  just  received 
the  weekly  mail  and  express  from  San  Francisco,  and 
was  engaged  in  examining  it.  It  consisted  of  five  letters 
and  two  parcels.  Of  these,  three  of  the  letters  and 
the  two  parcels  were  directed  to  Flip.  It  was  not  the 
first  time  during  the  last  six  months  that  this  extraor 
dinary  event  had  occurred,  and  the  curiosity  of  the 
Crossing  was  duly  excited.  As  Flip  had  never  called 
personally  for  the  letters  or  parcels,  but  had  sent  one  of 


24          Flip:  A   California  Romance. 

her  wild,  irregular  scouts  or  henchmen  to  bring  them, 
and  as  she  was  seldom  seen  at  the  Crossing  or  on  the 
stage  road,  that  curiosity  was  never  satisfied.  The  disap 
pointment  to  the  Postmaster— a  man  past  the  middle 
age — partook  of  a  sentimental  nature.  He  looked  at 
the  letters  and  parcels ;  he  looked  at  his  watch ;  it  was 
yet  early,  he  could  return  by  noon.  He  again  exam 
ined  the  addresses ;  they  were  in  the  same  handwriting 
as  the  previous  letters.  His  mind  was  made  up,  he 
would  deliver  them  himself.  The  poetic,  soulful  side  of 
his  mission  was  delicately  indicated  by  a  pale  blue  neck 
tie,  a  clean  shirt,  and  a  small  package  of  ginger-nuts,  of 
which  Flip  was  extravagantly  fond. 

The  common  road  to  Fairley's  Ranch  was  by  the  stage 
turnpike  to  a  point  below  the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods, 
where  the  prudent  horseman  usually  left  his  beast  and 
followed  the  intersecting  trail  afoot.  It  was  here  that 
the  Postmaster  suddenly  observed  on  the  edge  of  the 
wood  the  figure  of  an  elegantly  drSssed  woman  ;  she  was 
walking  slowly,  and  apparently  at  her  ease ;  one  hand 
held  her  skirts  lightly  gathered  between  her  gloved  fin 
gers,  the  other  slowly  swung  a  riding-whip.  Was  it  a 
picnic  of  some  people  from  Monterey  or  Santa  Cruz  ? 
The  spectacle  was  novel  enough  to  justify  his  coming 
nearer.  Suddenly  she  withdrew  into  the  wood ;  he  lost 
sight  of  her ;  she  was  gone.  He  remembered,  however, 
that  Flip  was  still  to  be  seen,  and  as  the  steep  trail  was 
beginning  to  tax  all  his  energies,  he  was  fain  to  hurry 
forward.  The  sun  was  nearly  vertical  when  he  turned 
into  the  canon,  and  saw  the  bark  roof  of  the  cabin  be 
yond.  At  almost  the  same  moment  Flip  appeared, 
flushed  and  panting,  in  the  road  before  him. 

"  You  Ve  got  something  for  me,"  she  said,  pointing  to 
the  parcel  and  letter.  Completely  taken  by  surprise,  the 
Postmaster  mechanically  yielded  them  up,  and  as  in- 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          25 

stantly  regretted  it.  "  They  're  paid  for,"  continued  Flip, 
observing  his  hesitation. 

"That's  so,"  stammered  the  official  of  the  Crossing, 
seeing  his  last  chance  of  knowing  the  contents  of  the 
parcel  vanish ;  "  but  I  thought  ez  it 's  a  valooable  pack 
age,  maybe  ye  might  want  to  examine  it  to  see  that  it  was 
all  right  afore  ye  receipted  for  it." 

"I'll  risk  it,"  said  Flip,  coolly,  "and  if  it  ain't  right 
I  '11  let  ye  know." 

As  the  girl  seemed  inclined  to  retire  with  her  property, 
the  Postmaster  was  driven  to  other  conversation.  "  We 
ain't  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  down  at  the  Cross 
ing  for  a  month  o'  Sundays,"  he  began,  with  airy  yet 
pronounced  gallantry.  "  Some  folks  let  on  you  was  keep- 
in'  company  with  some  feller  like  Bijah  Brown,  and  you 
were  getting  a  little  too  set  up  for  the  Crossing."  The 
individual  here  mentioned  being  the  county  butcher,  and 
supposed  to  exhibit  his  hopeless  affection  for  Flip  by 
making  a  long  and  useless  divergence  from  his  weekly 
route  to  enter  the  canon  for  "orders,"  Flip  did  not  deem 
it  necessary  to  reply.  "  Then  I  allowed  how  ez  you 
might  have  company,"  he  continued  ;  "  I  reckon  there  's 
some  city  folks  up  at  the  summit.  I  saw  a  mighty  smart, 
fash'n'ble  gal  cavorting  round.  Hed  no  end  o'  style 
s^  and  fancy  fixin's.  That 's  my  kind,  I  tell  you.  I  just 
weaken  on  that  sort  o'  gal,"  he  continued,  in  the  firm  belief 
that  he  had  awakened  Flip's  jealousy,  as  he  glanced  at 
her  well-worn  homespun  frock,  and  found  her  eyes  sud 
denly  fixed  on  his  own. 

"  Strange  I  ain't  got  to  see  her  yet,"  she  replied  coolly, 
shouldering  her  parcel,  and  quite  ignoring  any  sense  of 
obligation  to  him  for  his  extra-official  act. 

"  But  you  might  get  to  see  her  at  the  edge  of  the  Gin 
and  Ginger  Woods,"  he  persisted  feebly,  in  a  last  effort 
to  detain  her;  "  if  you'll  take  zpasear  there  with  me." 


26          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

Flip's  only  response  was  to  walk  on  toward  the  cabin, 
whence,  with  a  vague  complimentary  suggestion  of  "drop- 
in'  in  to  pass  the  time  o'  day  "  with  her  father,  the  Post 
master  meekly  followed. 

The  paternal  Fairley,  once  convinced  that  his  daughter's 
new  companion  required  no  pecuniary  or  material  assist 
ance  from  his  hands,  relaxed  to  the  extent  of  entering 
into  a  querulous  confidence  with  him,  during  which  Flip 
took  the  opportunity  of  slipping  away.  As  Fairley  had 
that  infelicitous  tendency  of  most  weak  natures,  to  un 
consciously  exaggerate  unimportant  details  in  their  talk, 
the  Postmaster  presently  became  convinced  that  the 
butcher  was  a  constant  and  assiduous  suitor  of  Flip's. 
The  absurdity  of  his  sending  parcels  and  letters  by  post 
when  he  might  bring  them  himself  did  not  strike  the 
official.  On  the  contrary,  he  believed  it  to  be  a  master 
stroke  of  cunning.  Fired  by  jealousy  and  Flip's  indiffer 
ence,  he  "  deemed  it  his  duty  "  —  using  that  facile  form 
of  cowardly  offensiveness —  to  betray  Flip. 

Of  which  she  was  happily  oblivious.  Once  away  from 
the  cabin,  she  plunged  into  the  woods,  with  the  parcel 
swung  behind  her  like  a  knapsack.  Leaving  the  trail, 
she  presently  struck  off  in  a  straight  line  through  cover 
and  underbrush  with  the  unerring  instinct  of  an  animal, 
climbing  hand  over  hand  the  steepest  ascent,  or  flutter 
ing  like  a  bird  from  branch  to  branch  down  the  deepest 
declivity.  She  soon  reached  that  part  of  the  trail  where 
the  susceptible  Postmaster  had  seen  the  fascinating  un 
known.  Assuring  herself  she  was  not  followed,  she  crept 
through  the  thicket  until  she  reached  a  little  waterfall 
and  basin  that  had  served  the  fugitive  Lance  for  a  bath. 
The  spot  bore  signs  of  later  and  more  frequent  occu 
pancy,  and  when  Flip  carefully  removed  some  bark  and 
brushwood  from  a  cavity  in  the  rock  and  drew  forth  vari 
ous  folded  garments,  it  was  evident  she  used  it  as  a 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          27 

sylvan  dressing-room.  Here  she  opened  the  parcel ;  it 
contained  a  small  and  delicate  shawl  of  yellow  China 
crepe.  Flip  instantly  threw  it  over  her  shoulders  and 
stepped  hurriedly  toward  the  edge  of  the  wood.  Then 
she  began  to  pass  backward  and  forward  before  the  trunk 
of  a  tree.  At  first  nothing  was  visible  on  the  tree,  but  a 
closer  inspection  showed  a  large  pane  of  ordinary  window 
glass  stuck  in  the  fork  of  the  branches.  It  was  placed  at 
such  a  cunning  angle  against  the  darkness  of  the  forest 
opening  that  it  made  a  soft  and  mysterious  mirroi*  not 
unlike  a  Claude  Lorraine  glass,  wherein  not  only  the 
passing  figure  of  the  young  girl  was  seen,  but  the  daz 
zling  green  and  gold  of  the  hillside,  and  the  far-off  sil 
houetted  crests  of  the  Coast  Range. 

But  this  was  evidently  only  a  prelude  to  a  severer  re 
hearsal.  When  she  returned  to  the  waterfall  she  un 
earthed  from  her  stores  a  large  piece  of  yellow  soap  and 
some  yards  of  rough  cotton  "  sheeting."  These  she  de 
posited  beside  the  basin  and  again  crept  to  the  edge  of 
the  wood  to  assure  herself  that  she  was  alone.  Satisfied 
that  no  intruding  foot  had  invaded  that  virgin  bower,  she 
returned  to  her  bath  and  began  to  undress.  A  slight  wind 
followed  her,  and  seemed  to  whisper  to  the  circumjacent 
trees.  It  appeared  to  waken  her  sister  naiads  and  nymphs, 
who,  joining  their  leafy  fingers,  softly  drew  around  her  a 
gently  moving  band  of  trembling  lights  and  shadows,  of 
flecked  sprays  and  inextricably  mingled  branches,  and 
involved  her  in  a  chaste  sylvan  obscurity,  veiled  alike 
from  pursuing  god  or  stumbling  shepherd.  Within  these 
hallowed  precincts  was  the  musical  ripple  of  laughter  and 
falling  water,  and  at  times  the  glimpse  of  a  lithe  brier- 
caught  limb,  or  a  ray  of  sunlight  trembling  over  bright 
flanks,  or  the  white  austere  outline  of  a  childish  bosom. 

When  she  drew  again  the  leafy  curtain,  and  once  more 
stepped  out  of  the  wood,  she  was  completely  transformed. 


28          Flip:  A   California  Romance. 

It  was  the  figure  that  had  appeared  to  the  Postmaster ; 
the  slight,  erect,  graceful  form  of  a  young  woman  mod- 
ishly  attired.  It  was  Flip,  but  Flip  made  taller  by  the 
lengthened  skirt  and  clinging  habiliments  of  fashion. 
Flip  freckled,  but,  through  the  cunning  of  a  relief  of  yel 
low  color  in  her  gown,  her  piquant  brown-shot  face  and 
eyes  brightened  and  intensified  until  she  seemed  like  a 
spicy  odor  made  visible.  I  cannot  affirm  that  the  judg 
ment  of  Flip's  mysterious  modiste  was  infallible,  or  that 
the  taste  of  Mr.  Lance  Harriott,  her  patron,  was  fastidi 
ous  j  enough  that  it  was  picturesque,  and  perhaps  not 
more  glaring  and  extravagant  than  the  color  in  which 
Spring  herself  had  once  clothed  the  sere  hillside  where 
Flip  was  now  seated.  The  phantom  mirror  in  the  tree 
fork  caught  and  held  her  with  the  sky,  the  green  leaves, 
the  sunlight  and  all  the  graciousness  of  her  surroundings, 
and  the  wind  gently  tossed  her  hair  and  the  gay  ribbons 
of  her  gypsy  hat.  Suddenly  she  started.  Some  remote 
sound  in  the  trail  below,  inaudible  to  any  ear  less  fine 
than  hers,  arrested  her  breathing.  She  rose  swiftly  and 
darted  into  cover. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  The  sun  was  declining ;  the 
white  fog  was  beginning  to  creep  over  the  Coast  Range. 
From  the  edge  of  the  wood  Cinderella  appeared,  disen 
chanted,  and  in  her  homespun  garments.  The  clock  had 
struck  —  the  spell  was  past.  As  she  disappeared  down 
the  trail  even  the  magic  mirror,  moved  by  the  wind, 
slipped  from  the  tree  -  top  to  the  ground,  and  became  a 
piece  of  common  glass. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  events  of  the  day  had  produced  a  remarkable  im 
pression  on  the  facial  aspect  of  the  charcoal-burning 
Fairley.  Extraordinary  processes  of  thought,  indicated 
by  repeated  rubbing  of  his  forehead,  had  produced  a 
high  light  in  the  middle  and  a  corresponding  deepening 
of  shadow  at  the  sides,  until  it  bore  the  appearance  of  a 
perfect  sphere.  It  was  this  forehead  that  confronted 
Flip  reproachfully  as  became  a  deceived  comrade,  menac 
ingly  as  became  an  outraged  parent  in  the  presence  of  a 
third  party  and  —  a  Postmaster. 

"  Fine  doin's  this,  yer  receivin'  clandecent  bundles  and 
letters,  eh?"  he  *began.  Flip  sent  one  swift,  withering 
look  of  contempt  at  the  Postmaster,  who  at  once  becom 
ing  invertebrate  and  groveling,  mumbled  that  he  must 
"  get  on  "  to  the  Crossing,  and  rose  to  go.  But  the  old 
man,  who  had  counted  on  his  presence  for  moral  support, 
and  was  clearly  beginning  to  hate  him  for  precipitating 
this  scene  with  his  daughter,  whom  he  feared,  violently 
protested. 

"  Sit  down,  can't  ye  ?  Don't  you  see  you  're  a  wit 
ness  ?  "  he  screamed  hysterically. 

It  was  a  fatal  suggestion.  "  Witness,"  repeated  Flip, 
scornfully. 

"  Yes,  a  witness  !     He  gave  ye  letters  and  bundles." 

"  Were  n't  they  directed  to  me  ?  "  asked  Flip. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Postmaster,  hesitatingly ;  "  in  course, 
yes." 

"  Do  you  lay  claim  to  them  ?  "  she  said,  turning  to  her 
father. 

"  No,"  responded  the  old  man. 


30          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  sharply,  to  the  Postmaster. 

"  No,"  he  replied. 

"  Then,"  said  Flip,  coolly,  "  if  you  're  not  claimin'  'em 
for  yourself,  and  you  hear  father  say  they  ain't  his,  I 
reckon  the  less  you  have  to  say  about  'em  the  better." 

"  Thar 's  suthin'  in  that,"  said  the  old  man,  shamelessly 
abandoning  the  Postmaster. 

"  Then  why  don't  she  say  who  sent  'em,  and  what  they 
are  like,"  said  the  Postmaster,  "  if  there 's  nothing  in  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  echoed  Dad.     "  Flip,  why  don't  you  ? " 

Without  answering  the  direct  question,  Flip  turned 
upon  her  father. 

"  Maybe  you  forget  how  you  used  to  row  and  tear 
round  here  because  tramps  and  such  like  came  to  the 
ranch  for  suthin',  and  I  gave  it  to  'em  ?  Maybe  you  '11 
quit  tearin'  round  and  letting  yourself  be  made  a  fool  of 
now  by  that  man,  just  because  one  of  those  tramps  gets 
up  and  sends  us  some  presents  back  in  turn  ? " 

"  'Twas  n't  me,  Flip,"  said  the  old  man,  deprecatingly, 
but  glaring  at  the  astonished  Postmaster.  "  'Twas  n't  my 
doin'.  I  allus  said  if  you  cast  your  bread  on  the  waters 
it  would  come  back  to  you  by  return  mail.  The  fact  is, 
the  Gov'ment  is  getting  too  high-handed  !  Some  o'  these 
bloated  officials  had  better  climb  down  before  next  leck- 
shen." 

"  Maybe,"  continued  Flip  to  her  father,  without  looking 
at  her  discomfited  visitor,  "  ye  'd  better  find  out  whether 
one  of  those  officials  comes  up  to  this  yer  ranch  to  steal 
away  a  gal  about  my  own  size,  or  to  get  points  about 
diamond-making.  I  reckon  he  don't  travel  round  to  find 
out  who  writes  all  the  letters  that  go  through  the  Post 
Office." 

The  Postmaster  had  seemingly  miscalculated  the  old 
man's  infirm  temper,  and  the  daughter's  skillful  use  of  it. 
He  was  unprepared  for  Flip's  boldness  and  audacity,  and 


Flip:  A  California  Romance.          31 

when  he  saw  that  both  barrels  of  the  accusation  had 
taken  effect  on  the  charcoal-burner,  who  was  rising  with 
epileptic  rage,  he  fairly  turned  and  fled.  The  old  man 
would  have  followed  him  with  objurgation  beyond  the 
door,  but  for  the  restraining  hand  of  Flip. 

Baffled  and  beaten,  nevertheless  Fate  was  not  wholly 
unkind  to  the  retreating  suitor.  Near  the  Gin  and  Gin 
ger  Woods  he  picked  up  a  letter  which  had  fallen  from 
Flip's  packet.  He  recognized  the  writing,  and  did  not 
scruple  to  read  it.  It  was  not  a  love  epistle,  —  at  least, 
not  such  a  one  as  he  would  have  written,  —  it  did  not 
give  the  address  nor  the  name  of  the  correspondent ;  but 
he  read  the  following  with  greedy  eyes  :  — 

"  Perhaps  it 's  just  as  well  that  you  don't  rig  yourself 
out  for  the  benefit  of  those  dead-beats  at  the  Crossing, 
or  any  tramp  that  might  hang  round  the  ranch.  Keep 
all  your  style  for  me  when  I  come.  I  can't  tell  you  when, 
it 's  mighty  uncertain  before  the  rainy  season.  But  I  'm 
coming  soon.  Don't  go  back  on  your  promise  about  let- 
tin'  up  on  the  tramps,  and  being  a  little  more  high-toned. 
And  don't  you  give  'em  so  much.  It 's  true  I  sent  you 
hats  twice.  I  clean  forgot  all  about  the  first ;  but  / 
wouldn't  have  given  a  ten-dollar  hat  to  a  nigger  woman 
who  had  a  sick  baby  because  I  had  an  extra  hat.  I  'd 
have  let  that  baby  slide.  I  forgot  to  ask  whether  the 
skirt  is  worn  separately ;  I  must  see  that  dressmaker 
sharp  about  it ;  but  I  think  you  '11  want  something  on  be 
sides  a  jacket  and  skirt ;  at  least,  it  looks  like  it  up  here. 
I  don't  think  you  could  manage  a  piano  down  there  with 
out  the  old  man  knowing  it,  and  raisin'  the  devil  generally. 
I  promised  you  I  'd  let  up  on  him.  Mind  you  keep  all 
your  promises  to  me.  I  'm  glad  you're  gettin'  on  with  the 
six-shooter ;  tin  cans  are  good  at  fifteen  yards,  but  try  it 
on  suthin'  that  moves  /  I  forgot  to  say  that  I  am  on  the 


32          Flip:  A   California  Romance. 

track  of  your  big  brother.  It 's  a  three  years'  old  track, 
and  he  was  in  Arizona.  The  friend  who  told  me  did  n't 
expatiate  much  on  what  he  did  there,  but  I  reckon  they 
had  a  high  old  time.  If  he 's  above  the  earth  I  '11  find 
him,  you  bet.  The  yerba  buena  and  the  southern  wood 
came  all  right,  —  they  smelt  like  you.  Say,  Flip,  do  you 
remember  the  last — the  very  last —  thing  that  happened 
when  you  said  *  good-by '  on  the  trail  ?  Don't  let  me 
ever  find  out  that  you  've  let  anybody  else  kiss"  — 

But  here  the  virtuous  indignation  of  the  Postmaster 
found  vent  in  an  oath.  He  threw  the  letter  away.  He 
retained  of  it  only  two  facts,  —  Flip  had  a  brother  who 
was  missing ;  she  had  a  lover  present  in  the  flesh. 

How  much  of  the  substance  of  this  and  previous  let 
ters  Flip  had  confided  to  her  father  I  cannot  say.  If  she 
suppressed  anything  it  was  probably  that  which  affected 
Lance's  secret  alone,  and  it  was  doubtful  how  much  of 
that  she  herself  knew.  In  her  own  affairs  she  was  frank 
without  being  communicative,  and  never  lost  her  shy  ob 
stinacy  even  with  her  father.  Governing  the  old  man  as 
completely  as  she  did,  she  appeared  most  embarrassed 
when  she  was  most  dominant ;  she  had  her  own  way  with 
out  lifting  her  voice  or  her  eyes  ;  she  seemed  oppressed 
by  mauvaise  honte  when  she  was  most  triumphant ;  she 
would  end  a  discussion  with  a  shy  murmur  addressed  to 
herself,  or  a  single  gesture  of  self-consciousness. 

The  disclosure  of  her  strange  relations  with  an  un 
known  man,  and  the  exchange  of  presents  and  confi 
dences,  seemed  to  suddenly  awake  Fairley  to  a  vague,  un 
easy  sense  of  some  unfulfilled  duties  as  a  parent.  The 
first  effect  of  this  on  his  weak  nature  was  a  peevish  an 
tagonism  to  the  cause  of  it.  He  had  long,  fretful  mono 
logues  on  the  vanity  of  diamond-making,  if  accompanied 
with  "  pestering  "  by  "  interlopers  ; "  on  the  wickedness 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          33 

of  concealment  and  conspiracy,  and  their  effects  on  char 
coal-burning  ;  on  the  nurturing  of  spies  and  "  adders  "  in 
the  family  circle,  and  on  the  seditiousness  of  dark  and 
mysterious  councils  in  which  a  gray-haired  father  was  left 
out.  It  was  true  that  a  word  or  look  from  Flip  generally 
brought  these  monologues  to  an  inglorious  and  abrupt 
termination,  but  they  were  none  the  less  lugubrious  as 
long  as  they  lasted.  In  time  they  were  succeeded  by  an 
affectation  of  contrite  apology  and  self  -  depreciation. 
"  Don't  go  out  o'  the  way  to  ask  the  old  man,"  he  would 
say,  referring  to  the  quantity  of  bacon  to  be  ordered  ;  "  it 's 
nat'ral  a  young  gal  should  have  her  own  advisers."  The 
state  of  the  flour-barrel  would  also  produce  a  like  self- 
abasement.  "Unless  ye 're  already  in  correspondence 
about  more  flour,  ye  might  take  the  opinion  o'  the  first 
tramp  ye  meet  ez  to  whether  Santa  Cruz  Mills  is  a  good 
brand,  but  don't  ask  the  old  man."  If  Flip  was  in  con 
versation  with  the  butcher,  Fairley  would  obtrusively  re 
tire  with  the  hope  "  he  was  n't  intrudin'  on  their  secrets." 
These  phases  of  her  father's  weakness  were  not  fre 
quent  enough  to  excite  her  alarm,  but  she  could  not  help 
noticing  they  were  accompanied  with  a  seriousness  un 
usual  to  him.  He  began  to  be  tremulously  watchful  of 
her,  returning  often  from  work  at  an  earlier  hour,  and 
lingering  by  the  cabin  in  the  morning.  He  brought 
absurd  and  useless  presents  for  her,  and  presented  them 
with  a  nervous  anxiety,  poorly  concealed  by  an  assump 
tion  of  careless,  paternal  generosity.  "  Suthin'  I  picked 
up  at  the  Crossin'  for  ye  to-day,"  he  would  say,  airily,  and 
retire  to  watch  the  effect  of  a  pair  of  shoes  two  sizes  too 
large,  or  a  fur  cap  in  September.  He  would  have  hired 
a  cheap  parlor  organ  for  her,  but  for  the  apparently  un 
expected  revelation  that  she  could  n't  play.  He  had  re 
ceived  the  news  of  a  clue  to  his  long-lost  son  without 
emotion,  but  lately  he  seemed  to  look  upon  it  as  a  fore- 


34          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

gone  conclusion,  and  one  that  necessarily  solved  the  ques 
tion  of  companionship  for  Flip.  "  In  course,  when  you  Ve 
got  your  own  flesh  and  blood  with  ye,  ye  can't  go  foolin' 
around  with  strangers."  These  autumnal  blossoms  of 
affection,  I  fear,  came  too  late  for  any  effect  upon  Flip, 
precociously  matured  by  her  father's  indifference  and 
selfishness.  But  she  was  good-humored,  and,  seeing  him 
seriously  concerned,  gave  him  more  of  her  time,  even  vis 
ited  him  in  the  sacred  seclusion  of  the  "diamond  pit," 
and  listened  with  far-off  eyes  to  his  fitful  indictment  of 
all  things  outside  his  grimy  laboratory.  Much  of  this 
patient  indifference  came  with  a  capricious  change  in  her 
own  habits ;  she  no  longer  indulged  in  the  rehearsal  of 
dress,  she  packed  away  her  most  treasured  garments,  and 
her  leafy  boudoir  knew  her  no  more.  She  sometimes 
walked  on  the  hillside,  and  often  followed  the  trail  she 
had  taken  with  Lance  when  she  led  him  to  the  ranch. 
She  once  or  twice  extended  her  walk  to  the  spot  where 
she  had  parted  from  him,  and  as  often  came  shyly  away, 
her  eyes  downcast  and  her  face  warm  with  color.  Per 
haps  because  these  experiences  and  some  mysterious  in 
stinct  of  maturing  womanhood  had  left  a  story  in  her 
eyes,  which  her  two  adorers,  the  Postmaster  and  the 
butcher,  read  with  passion,  she  became  famous  without 
knowing  it.  Extravagant  stories  of  her  fascinations 
brought  strangers  into  the  valley.  The  effect  upon  her 
father  may  be  imagined.  Lance  could  not  have  desired 
a  more  effective  guardian  than  he  proved  to  be  in  this 
emergency.  Those  who  had  been  told  of  this  hidden 
pearl  were  surprised  to  find  it  so  jealously  protected. 


: 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  long,  parched  summer  had  drawn  to  its  dusty 
close.  Much  of  it  was  already  blown  abroad  and  dissi 
pated  on  trail  and  turnpike,  or  crackled  in  harsh,  un- 
elastic  fibres  on  hillside  and  meadow.  Some  of  it  had 
disappeared  in  the  palpable  smoke  by  day  and  fiery  crests 
by  night  of  burning  forests.  The  besieging  fogs  on  the 
Coast  Range  daily  thinned  their  hosts,  and  at  last  van 
ished.  The  wind  changed  from  northwest  to  southwest. 
The  salt  breath  of  the  sea  was  on  the  summit.  And  then 
one  day  the  staring,  unchanged  sky  was  faintly  touched 
with  remote  mysterious  clouds,  and  grew  tremulous  in  ex 
pression.  The  next  morning  dawned  upon  a  newer  face 
in  the  heavens,  on  changed  woods,  on  altered  outlines,  on 
vanished  crests,  on  forgotten  distances.  It  was  raining ! 

Four  weeks  of  this  change,  with  broken  spaces  of  sun 
light  and  intense  blue  aerial  islands,  and  then  a  storm  set 
in.  All  day  the  summit  pines  and  redwoods  rocked  in 
the  blast.  At  times  the  onset  of  the  rain  seemed  to  be 
held  back  by  the  fury  of  the  gale,  or  was  visibly  seen  in 
sharp  waves  on  the  hillside.  Unknown  and  concealed 
watercourses  suddenly  overflowed  the  trails,  pools  became 
lakes  and  brooks  rivers.  Hidden  from  the  storm,  the 
sylvan  silence  of  sheltered  valleys  was  broken  by  the  im 
petuous  rush  of  waters ;  even  the  tiny  streamlet  that 
traversed  Flip's  retreat  in  the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods  be 
came  a  cascade. 

The  storm  drove  Fairley  from  his  couch  early.  The 
falling  of  a  large  tree  across  the  trail,  and  the  sudden 
overflow  of  a  small  stream  beside  it,  hastened  his  steps. 


36          Flip:  A   California  Romance. 

But  he  was  doomed  to  encounter  what  was  to  him  a  more 
disagreeable  object  —  a  human  figure.  By  the  bedraggled 
drapery  that  flapped  and  fluttered  in  the  wind,  by  the 
long,  unkempt  hair  that  hid  the  face  and  eyes,  and  by  the 
grotesquely  misplaced  bonnet,  the  old  man  recognized 
one  of  his  old  trespassers  —  an  Indian  squaw. 

"  Clear  out  'er  that !  Come,  make  tracks,  will  ye  ? " 
the  old  man  screamed;  but  here  the  wind  stopped  his 
voice,  and  drove  him  against  a  hazel-bush. 

"  Me  heap  sick,"  answered  the  squaw,  shivering  through 
her  muddy  shawl. 

"I'll  make  ye  a  heap  sicker  if  ye  don't  vamose  the 
ranch,"  continued  Fairley,  advancing. 

"  Me  wantee  Wangee  girl.  Wangee  girl  give  me  heap 
grub,"  said  the  squaw,  without  moving. 

"  You  bet  your  life,"  groaned  the  old  man  to  himself. 
Nevertheless  an  idea  struck  him.  "  Ye  ain't  brought 
no  presents,  hev  ye  ? "  he  asked  cautiously.  "  Ye  ain't  got 
no  pooty  things  for  poor  Wangee  girl  ?  "  he  continued  in 
sinuatingly. 

"  Me  got  heap  cache  nuts  and  berries,"  said  the  squaw. 

"  Oh,  in  course  !  in  course  !  That 's  just  it,"  screamed 
Fairley ;  "  you  've  got  'em  cached  only  two  mile  from  yer, 
and  you  '11  go  and  get  'em  for  a  half  dollar,  cash  down." 

"  Me  bring  Wangee  girl  to  cache,"  replied  the  Indian, 
pointing  to  the  wood.  "  Honest  Injin." 

Another  bright  idea  struck  Mr.  Fairley;  but  it  re 
quired  some  elaboration.  Hurrying  the  squaw  with  him 
through  the  pelting  rain,  he  reached  the  shelter  of  the 
corral.  Vainly  the  shivering  aborigine  drew  her  tightly 
bandaged  papoose  closer  to  her  square,  flat  breast,  and 
looked  longingly  toward  the  cabin  ;  the  old  man  backed 
her  against  the  palisade.  Here  he  cautiously  imparted 
his  dark  intentions  to  employ  her  to  keep  watch  and  ward 
over  the  ranch,  and  especially  over  its  young  mistress  — 


Flip:  A  California  Romance.          37 

"  clear  out  all  the  tramps  'ceptin'  yourself,  and  I  '11  keep 
ye  in  grub  and  rum."  Many  and  deliberate  repetitions 
of  this  offer  in  various  forms  at  last  seemed  to  affect  the 
squaw;  she  nodded  violently,  and  echoed  the  last  word 
"rum."  "Now,"  she  added.  The  old  man  hesitated; 
she  was  in  possession  of  his  secret;  he  groaned,  and, 
promising  an  immediate  installment  of  liquor,  led  her  to 
the  cabin. 

The  door  was  so  securely  fastened  against  the  impact 
of  the  storm  that  some  moments  elapsed  before  the  bar 
was  drawn,  and  the  old  man  had  become  impatient  and 
profane.  When  it  was  partly  opened  by  Flip  he  hastily 
slipped  in,  dragging  the  squaw  after  him,  and  cast  one 
single  suspicious  glance  around  the  rude  apartment  which 
served  as  a  sitting-room.  Flip  had  apparently  been  writ 
ing.  A  small  inkstand  was  still  on  the  board  table,  but 
her  paper  had  evidently  been  concealed  before  she  al 
lowed  them  to  enter.  The  squaw  instantly  squatted  be 
fore  the  adobe  hearth,  warmed  her  bundled  baby,  and 
left  the  ceremony  of  introduction  to  her  companion. 
Flip  regarded  the  two  with  calm  preoccupation  and  in 
difference.  The  only  thing  that  touched  her  interest  was 
the  old  squaw's  draggled  skirt  and  limp  neckerchief. 
They  were  Flip's  own,  long  since  abandoned  and  cast 
off  in  the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods.  "  Secrets  again," 
whined  Fairley,  still  eying  Flip  furtively.  "  Secrets 
again,  in  course  —  in  course  —  jiss  so.  Secrets  that  must 
be  kep  from  the  ole  man.  Dark  doin's  by  one's  own 
flesh  and  blood.  Go  on !  go  on !  Don't  mind  me." 
Flip  did  not  reply.  She  had  even  lost  the  interest  in  her 
old  dress.  Perhaps  it  had  only  touched  some  note  in 
unison  with  her  revery. 

"  Can't  ye  get  the  poor  critter  some  whiskey  ?  "  he 
queried,  fretfully.  "Ye  used  to  be  peart  enuff  be 
fore."  As  Flip  turned  to  the  corner  to  lift  the  demijohn, 


38          Flip :  A   California  Romance. 

Fairley  took  occasion  to  kick  the  squaw  with  his  foot, 
and  indicate  by  extravagant  pantomime  that  the  bargain 
was  not  to  be  alluded  to  before  the  girl.  Flip  poured 
out  some  whiskey  in  a  tin  cup,  and,  approaching  the 
squaw,  handed  it  to  her.  "  It 's  like  ez  not,"  continued 
Fairley  to  his  daughter,  but  looking  at  the  squaw,  "  that 
she  '11  be  huntin'  the  woods  off  and  on,  and  kinder  look 
ing  after  the  last  pit  near  the  Madronos ;  ye  '11  give  her 
grub  and  licker  ez  she  likes.  Well,  d'  ye  hear,  Flip  ? 
Are  ye  moonin'  agin  with  yer  secrets  ?  What  's  gone 
with  ye  ?  " 

If  the  child  were  dreaming,  it  was  a  delicious  dream. 
Her  magnetic  eyes  were  suffused  by  a  strange  light,  as 
though  the  eye  itself  had  blushed ;  her  full  pulse  showed 
itself  more  in  the  rounding  outline  of  her  cheek  than  in 
any  deepening  of  color ;  indeed,  if  there  was  any  height 
ening  of  tint,  it  was  in  her  freckles,  which  fairly  glistened 
like  tiny  spangles.  Her  eyes  were  downcast,  her  shoul 
ders  slightly  bent,  but  her  voice  was  low  and  clear  and 
thoughtful  as  ever. 

"One  o'  the  big  pines  above  the  Madrono  pit  has  blown 
over  into  the  run,"  she  said.  "  It  's  choked  up  the  water, 
and  it's  risin'  fast.  Like  ez  not  it's  pourin'  over  into 
the  pit  by  this  time." 

The  old  man  rose  with  a  fretful  cry.  "And  why  in 
blazes  did  n't  you  say  so  first  ?  "  he  screamed,  catching 
up  his  axe  and  rushing  to  the  door. 

"  Ye  did  n't  give  me  a  chance,"  said  Flip,  raising  her 
eyes  for  the  first  time.  With  an  impatient  imprecation, 
Fairley  darted  by  her  and  rushed  into  the  wood.  In  an 
instant  she  had  shut  the  door  and  bolted  it.  In  the  same 
instant  the  squaw  arose,  dashed  the  long  hair  not  only 
from  her  eyes  but  from  her  head,  tore  away  her  shawl  and 
blanket,  and  revealed  the  square  shoulders  of  Lance  Har 
riott  !  Flip  remained  leaning  against  the  door  ;  but  the 


Flip:  A  California  Romance.          39 

young  man  in  rising  dropped  the  bandaged  papoose, 
which  rolled  from  his  lap  into  the  fire.  Flip,  with  a  cry, 
sprang  toward  it ;  but  Lance  caught  her  by  the  waist  with 
one  arm,  as  with  the  other  he  dragged  the  bundle  from 
the  flames. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  gayly,  "  it 's  only  "  — 

"  What  ? "  said  Flip,  trying  to  disengage  herself. 

"  My  coat  and  trousers." 

Flip  laughed,  which  encouraged  Lance  to  another  at 
tempt  to  kiss  her.  She  evaded  it  by  diving  her  head  into 
his  waistcoat,  and  saying,  "  There  's  father." 

"  But  he  's  gone  to  clear  away  that  tree,"  suggested 
Lance. 

One  of  Flip's  significant  silences  followed. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  he  laughed.  "That  was  a  plan  to  get 
him  away  !  Ah  !  "  She  had  released  herself. 

"  Why  did  you  come  like  that  ?  "  she  said,  pointing  to 
his  wig  and  blanket. 

"  To  see  if  you  'd  know  me,"  he  responded. 

"  No,"  said  Flip,  dropping  her  eyes.  "  It 's  to  keep 
other  people  from  knowing  you.  You  're  hidin'  agin." 

"  I  am,"  returned  Lance  ;  "  but,"  he  interrupted,  "  it 's 
only  the  same  old  thing." 

"  But  you  wrote  from  Monterey  that  it  was  all  over," 
she  persisted. 

"  So  it  would  have  been,"  he  said  gloomily,  "  but  for 
some  dog  down  here  who  is  hunting  up  an  old  scent.  I  '11 
spot  him  yet,  and  "  —  He  stopped  suddenly,  with  such 
utter  abstraction  of  hatred  in  his  fixed  and  glittering 
eyes  that  she  almost  feared  him.  She  laid  her  hand  quite 
unconsciously  on  his  arm.  He  grasped  it;  his  face 
changed. 

"  I  could  n't  wait  any  longer  to  see  you,  Flip,  so  I  came 
here  anyway,"  he  went  on.  "  I  thought  to  hang  round 
and  get  a  chance  to  speak  to  you  first,  when  I  fell  afoul 


4<D          Flip :  A  California  Romance. 

of  the  old  man.  He  did  n't  know  me,  and  tumbled  right 
in  my  little  game.  Why,  do  you  believe  he  wants  to  hire 
me  for  my  grub  and  liquor,  to  act  as  a  sort  of  sentry 
over  you  and  the  ranch  ? "  And  here  he  related  with 
great  gusto  the  substance  of  his  interview.  "  I  reckon  as 
he  's  that  suspicious,"  he  concluded,  "  I  'd  better  play  it 
out  now  as  I  Ve  begun,  only  it 's  mighty  hard  I  can't  see 
you  here  before  the  fire  in  your  fancy  toggery,  Flip,  but 
must  dodge  in  and  out  of  the  wet  underbrush  in  these  yer 
duds  of  yours  that  I  picked  up  in  the  old  place  in  the  Gin 
and  Ginger  Woods." 

"  Then  you  came  here  just  to  see  me  ?  "  asked  Flip. 

"  I  did." 

"  For  only  that  ? " 

"  Only  that." 

Flip  dropped  her  eyes.  Lance  had  got  his  other  arm 
around  her  waist,  but  her  resisting  little  hand  was  still 
potent. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  at  last  without  looking  up,  but  ap 
parently  talking  to  the  intruding  arm,  "  when  Dad  comes 
I  '11  get  him  to  send  you  to  watch  the  diamond  pit.  It 
is  n't  far ;  it 's  warm,  and  "  — 

"  What  ? " 

"  I  '11  come,  after  a  bit,  and  see  you.  Quit  foolin'  now. 
If  you  'd  only  have  come  here  like  yourself  —  like  —  like 
—  a  white  man." 

"  The  old  man,"  interrupted  Lance,  "  would  have  just 
passed  me  on  to  the  summit  I  could  n't  have  played  the 
lost  fisherman  on  him  at  this  time  of  year." 

"  Ye  could  have  been  stopped  at  the  Crossing  by  high 
water,  you  silly,"  said  the  girl.  "It  was."  This  gram 
matical  obscurity  referred  to  the  stage-coach. 

"Yes,  but  I  might  have  been  tracked  to  this  cabin. 
And  look  here,  Flip,"  he  said,  suddenly  straightening 
himself,  and  lifting  the  girl's  face  to  a  level  with  his  own, 


Flip:  A  California  Romance.          41 

"I  don't  want  you  to  lie  any  more  for  me.  It  ain't 
right." 

"  All  right.  Ye  need  n't  go  to  the  pit,  then,  and  I 
won't  come." 

"  Flip  ! " 

"  And  here  's  Dad  coming.     Quick  !  " 

Lance  chose  to  put  his  own  interpretation  on  this  last 
adjuration.  The  resisting  little  hand  was  now  lying  quite 
limp  on  his  shoulder.  He  drew  her  brown,  bright  face 
near  his  own,  felt  her  spiced  breath  on  his  lips,  his 
cheeks,  his  hot  eyelids,  his  swimming  eyes,  kissed  her, 
hurriedly  replaced  his  wig  and  blanket,  and  dropped  be 
side  the  fire  with  the  tremulous  laugh  of  youth  and  inno 
cent  first  passion.  Flip  had  withdrawn  to  the  window, 
and  was  looking  out  upon  the  rocking  pines. 

"  He  don't  seem  to  be  coming,"  said  Lance,  with  a  half- 
shy  laugh. 

"  No,"  responded  Flip  demurely,  pressing  her  hot  oval 
cheek  against  the  wet  panes ;  "  I  reckon  I  was  mistaken. 
You  're  sure,"  she  added,  looking  resolutely  another  way, 
but  still  trembling  like  a  magnetic  needle  toward  Lance, 
as  he  moved  slightly  before  the  fire,  "  you  're  sure  you  'd 
like  me  to  come  to  you  ? " 

"  Sure,  Flip  ?  " 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Flip,  as  this  reassuring  query  of  re 
proachful  astonishment  appeared  about  to  be  emphasized 
by  a  forward  amatory  dash  of  Lance's ;  "  hush !  he 's 
coming  this  time,  sure." 

It  was,  indeed,  Fairley,  exceedingly  wet,  exceedingly 
bedraggled,  exceedingly  sponged  out  as  to  color,  and  ex 
ceedingly  profane.  It  appeared  that  there  was,  indeed, 
a  tree  that  had  fallen  in  the  "  run,"  but  that,  far  from 
diverting  the  overflow  into  the  pit,  it  had  established 
"  back  water,"  which  had  forced  another  outlet.  All  this 
might  have  been  detected  at  once  by  any  human  intellect 


42  Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

not  distracted  by  correspondence  with  strangers,  and  en 
feebled  by  habitually  scorning  the  intellect  of  its  own 
progenitor.  This  reckless  selfishness  had  further  only 
resulted  in  giving  "  rheumatics  "  to  that  progenitor,  who 
now  required  the  external  administration  of  opodeldoc  to 
his  limbs,  and  the  internal  administration  of  whiskey. 
Having  thus  spoken,  Mr.  Fairley,  with  great  promptitude 
and  infantine  simplicity,  at  once  bared  two  legs  of  en 
tirely  different  colors  and  mutely  waited  for  his  daughter 
to  rub  them.  If  Flip  did  this  all  unconsciously,  and  with 
the  mechanical  dexterity  of  previous  habit,  it  was  be 
cause  she  did  not  quite  understand  the  savage  eyes  and 
impatient  gestures  of  Lance  in  his  encompassing  wig  and 
blanket,  and  because  it  helped  her  to  voice  her  thought. 

"  Ye  '11  never  be  able  to  take  yer  watch  at  the  diamond 
pit  to-night,  Dad,"  she  said  ;  "  and  I  've  been  reck'nin' 
you  might  set  the  squaw  there  instead.  I  can  show  her 
what  to  do." 

But  to  Flip's  momentary  discomfiture,  her  father 
promptly  objected.  "  Mebbe  I  Ve  got  suthin'  else  for 
her  to  do.  Mebbe  I  may  have  my  secrets,  too  —  eh  ?  " 
he  said,  with  dark  significance,  at  the  same  time  adminis 
tering  a  significant  nudge  to  Lance,  which  kept  up  the 
young  man's  exasperation.  "  No,  she  '11  rest  yer  a  bit 
just  now.  I  '11  set  her  to  watchin'  suthin'  else,  like  as 
not,  when  I  want  her."  Flip  fell  into  one  of  her  sugges 
tive  silences.  Lance  watched  her  earnestly,  mollified  by 
a  single  furtive  glance  from  her  significant  eyes  ;  the  rain 
dashed  against  the  windows,  and  occasionally  spattered 
and  hissed  in  the  hearth  of  the  broad  chimney,  and  Mr. 
David  Fairley,  somewhat  assuaged  by  the  internal  ad 
ministration  of  whiskey,  grew  more  loquacious.  The 
genius  of  incongruity  and  inconsistency  which  generally 
ruled  his  conduct  came  out  with  freshened  vigor  under 
the  gentle  stimulation  of  spirit.  "On  an  evening  like 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          43 

this,"  he  began,  comfortably  settling  himself  on  the  floor 
beside  the  chimney,  "ye  might  rig  yerself  out  in  them 
new  duds  and  fancy  fixin's  that  that  Sacramento  shrimp 
sent  ye,  and  let  your  own  flesh  and  blood  see  ye.  If 
that's  too  much  to  do  for  your  old  dad,  ye  might  do  it  to 
please  that  digger  squaw  as  a  Christian  act."  Whether 
in  the  hidden  depths  of  the  old  man's  consciousness  there 
was  a  feeling  of  paternal  vanity  in  showing  this  wretched 
aborigine  the  value  and  importance  of  the  treasure  she 
was  about  to  guard,  I  cannot  say.  Flip  darted  an  inter 
rogatory  look  at  Lance,  who  nodded  a  quiet  assent,  and 
she  flew  into  the  inner  room.  She  did  not  linger  on  the 
details  of  her  toilet,  but  reappeared  almost  the  next  mo 
ment  in  her  new  finery,  buttoning  the  neck  of  her  gown 
as  she  entered  the  room,  and  chastely  stopping  at  the 
window  to  characteristically  pull  up  her  stocking.  The 
peculiarity  of  her  situation  increased  her  usual  shyness ; 
she  played  with  the  black  and  gold  beads  of  a  hand 
some  necklace — Lance's  last  gift  —  as  the  merest  child 
might ;  her  unbuckled  shoe  gave  the  squaw  a  natural  op 
portunity  of  showing  her  admiration  and  devotion  by  in 
sisting  upon  buckling  it,  and  gave  Lance,  under  that 
disguise,  an  opportunity  of  covertly  kissing  the  little  foot 
and  ankle  in  the  shadow  of  the  chimney ;  an  event 
which  provoked  slight  hysterical  symptoms  in  Flip  and 
caused  her  to  sit  suddenly  down  in  spite  of  the  remon 
strances  of  her  parent.  "  Ef  you  can't  quit  gigglin'  and 
squirmin'  like  an  Injin  baby  yourself,  ye  'd  better  get  rid 
o'  them  duds,"  he  ejaculated  with  peevish  scorn. 

Yet,  under  this  perfunctory  rebuke,  his  weak  vanity 
could  not  be  hidden,  and  he  enjoyed  the  evident  admira 
tion  of  a  creature,  whom  he  believed  to  be  half-witted  and 
degraded,  all  the  more  keenly  because  it  did  not  make 
him  jealous.  She  could  not  take  Flip  from  him.  Ren 
dered  garrulous  by  liquor,  he  went  to  voice  his  contempt 


44          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

for  those  who  might  attempt  it.  Taking  advantage  of 
his  daughter's  absence  to  resume  her  homely  garments, 
he  whispered  confidentially  to  Lance  : 

"  Ye  see  these  yer  fine  dresses,  ye  might  think  is  presents. 
Pr'aps  Flip  lets  on  they  are.  Pr'aps  she  don't  know  any 
better.  But  they  ain't  presents.  They  're  only  samples 
o'  dressmaking  and  jewelry  that  a  vain,  conceited  shrimp 
of  a  feller  up  in  Sacramento  sends  down  here  to  get  cus 
tomers  for.  In  course  I'm  to  pay  for  'em.  In  course  he 
reckons  I  'm  to  do  it.  In  course  I  calkilate  to  do  it ;  but 
he  need  n't  try  to  play  'em  off  as  presents.  He  talks 
suthin'  o'  coming  down  here,  sportin'  hisself  off  on  Flip  as 
a  fancy  buck  !  Not  ez  long  ez  the  old  man 's  here,  you 
bet !  "  Thoroughly  carried  away  by  his  fancied  wrongs, 
it  was  perhaps  fortunate  that  he  did  not  observe  the 
flashing  eyes  of  Lance  behind  his  lank  and  lustreless 
wig ;  but  seeing  only  the  figure  of  Lance  as  he  had  con 
jured  him,  he  went  on  :  "  That's  why  I  want  you  to  hang 
around  her.  Hang  around  her  ontil  my  boy  —  him  that 's 
comin'  home  on  a  visit  —  gets  here,  and  I  reckon  he'll 
clear  out  that  yar  Sacramento  counter-jumper.  Only  let 
me  get  a  sight  o'  him  afore  Flip  does.  Eh  ?  D'ye  hear? 
Dog  my  skin  if  I  don't  believe  the  d — d  Injin  's  drunk." 
It  was  fortunate  that  at  that  moment  Flip  reappeared, 
and,  dropping  on  the  hearth  between  her  father  and  the 
infuriated  Lance,  let  her  hand  slip  in  his  with  a  warning 
pressure.  The  light  touch  momentarily  recalled  him  to 
himself  and  her,  but  not  until  the  quick-witted  girl  had 
revealed  to  her,  in  one  startled  wave  of  consciousness, 
the  full  extent  of  Lance's  infirmity  of  temper.  With 
the  instinct  of  awakened  tenderness  came  a  sense  of  re 
sponsibility,  and  a  vague  premonition  of  danger.  The 
coy  blossom  of  her  heart  was  scarce  unfolded  before  it 
was  chilled  by  approaching  shadows.  Fearful  of,  she 
knew  not  what,  she  hesitated.  Every  moment  of  Lance's 


Flip:  A  California  Romance.          45 

stay  was  imperiled  by  a  single  word  that  might  spring 
from  his  suppressed  white  lips  ;  beyond  and  above  the 
suspicions  his  sudden  withdrawal  might  awaken  in  her 
father's  breast,  she  was  dimly  conscious  of  some  mysteri 
ous  terror  without  that  awaited  him.  She  listened  to  the 
furious  onslaught  of  the  wind  upon  the  sycamores  beside 
their  cabin,  and  thought  she  heard  it  there  ;  she  listened 
to  the  sharp  fusillade  of  rain  upon  roof  and  pane,  and  the 
turbulent  roar  and  rush  of  leaping  mountain  torrents  at 
their  very  feet,  and  fancied  it  was  there.  She  suddenly 
sprang  to  the  window,  and,  pressing  her  eyes  to  the  pane, 
saw  through  the  misty  turmoil  of  tossing  boughs  and  sway 
ing  branches  the  scintillating  intermittent  flames  of  torches 
moving  on  the  trail  above,  and  knew  it  was  there ! 

In  an  instant  she  was  collected  and  calm.  "  Dad,"  she 
said,  in  her  ordinary  indifferent  tone,  "there's  torches 
movin'  up  toward  the  diamond  pit.  Likely  it 's  tramps. 
I  '11  take  the  squaw  and  see."  And  before  the  old  man 
could  stagger  to  his  feet  she  had  dragged  Lance  with  her 
into  the  road. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  wind  charged  down  upon  them,  slamming  the 
door  at  their  backs,  extinguishing  the  broad  shaft  of  light 
that  had  momentarily  shot  out  into  the  darkness,  and 
swept  them  a  dozen  yards  away.  Gaining  the  lee  of  a 
madrono  tree,  Lance  opened  his  blanketed  arms,  enfolded 
the  girl,  and  felt  her  for  one  brief  moment  tremble  and 
nestle  in  his  bosom  like  some  frightened  animal.  "  Well," 
he  said,  gayly,  "what  next?"  Flip  recovered  herself. 
"  You  're  safe  now  anywhere  outside  the  house.  But  did 
you  expect  them  to-night  ?  "  Lance  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders.  "  Why  not  ? "  "  Hush  ! "  returned  the  girl ;  "  they  're 
coming  this  way." 

The  four  flickering,  scattered  lights  presently  dropped 
into  line.  The  trail  had  been  found  ;  they  were  coming 
nearer.  Flip  breathed  quickly  ;  the  spiced  aroma  of  her 
presence  filled  the  blanket  as  he  drew  her  tightly  beside 
him.  He  had  forgotten  the  storm  that  raged  around 
them,  the  mysterious  foe  that  was  approaching,  until  Flip 
caught  his  sleeve  with  a  slight  laugh.  "  Why,  it 's  Ken 
nedy  and  Bijah !  " 

"Who's  Kennedy  and  Bijah  ? "  asked  Lance,  curtly. 

"  Kennedy  's  the  Postmaster  and  Bijah 's  the  Butcher." 

"  What  do  they  want  ?  "  continued  Lance. 

"  Me,"  said  Flip,  coyly. 

"  You  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  let 's  run  away." 

Half  leading,  half  dragging  her  friend,  Flip  made  her 
way  with  unerring  woodcraft  down  the  ravine.  The 
sound  of  voices  and  even  the  tumult  of  the  storm  became 


Flip :  A  California  Romance.          47 

fainter,  an  acrid  smell  of  burning  green  wood  smarted 
Lance's  lips  and  eyes;  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness 
beneath  him  gradually  a  faint,  gigantic  nimbus  like  a 
lurid  eye  glowed  and  sank,  quivered  and  faded  with  the 
spent  breath  of  the  gale  as  it  penetrated  their  retreat. 
"The  pit,"  whispered  Flip;  "it's  safe  on  the  other  side," 
she  added,  cautiously  skirting  the  orbit  of  the  great  eye, 
and  leading  him  to  a  sheltered  nest  of  bark  and  saw 
dust.  It  was  warm  and  odorous.  Nevertheless,  they  both 
deemed  it  necessary  to  enwrap  themselves  in  the  single 
blanket.  The  eye  beamed  fitfully  upon  them,  occasion 
ally  a  wave  of  lambent  tremulousness  passed  across  it  j 
its  weirdness  was  an  excuse  for  their  drawing  nearer 
each  other  in  playful  terror. 

"  Flip." 

"Well?" 

"  What  did  the  other  two  want  ?     To  see  you,  too  ?  " 

"  Likely,"  said  Flip,  without  the  least  trace  of  coquetry. 
"There 's  been  a  lot  of  strangers  yer,  off  and  on." 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  go  back  and  see  them  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  ?  " 

Lance's  reply  was  a  kiss.  Nevertheless  he  was  vaguely 
uneasy.  "  Looks  a  little  as  if  I  were  running  away,  don't 
it  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  No,"  said  Flip ;  "  they  think  you  're  only  a  squaw ;  it 's 
me  they  're  after."  Lance  smarted  a  little  at  this  infelici 
tous  speech.  A  strange  and  irritating  sensation  had  been 
creeping  over  him  —  it  was  his  first  experience  of  shame 
and  remorse.  "  I  reckon  I  '11  go  back  and  see,"  he  said, 
rising  abruptly. 

Flip  was  silent.  She  was  thinking.  Believing  that  the 
men  were  seeking  her  only,  she  knew  that  their  intention 
would  be  directed  from  her  companion  when  it  was  found 
out  he  was  no  longer  with  her,  and  she  dreaded  to  meet 
them  in  his  irritable  presence. 


48          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

"  Go,"  she  said ;  "  tell  Dad  something 's  wrong  in  the 
diamond  pit,  and  say  I  'm  watching  it  for  him  here." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  '11  go  there  and  wait  for  him.  If  he  can't  get  rid  of 
them,  and  they  follow  him  there,  I  '11  come  back  here  and 
meet  you.  Anyhow,  I  '11  manage  to  have  Dad  wait  there 
a  spell." 

She  took  his  hand  and  led  him  back  by  a  different  path 
to  the  trail.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  cabin,  its 
window  glowing  from  the  fire,  was  only  a  hundred  yards 
away.  "  Go  in  the  back  way,  by  the  shed.  Don't  go  in 
the  room,  nor  near  the  light,  if  you  can.  Don't  talk  in 
side,  but  call  or  beckon  to  Dad.  Remember,"  she  said, 
with  a  laugh,  "  you  're  keeping  watch  of  me  for  him.  Pull 
your  hair  down  on  your  eyes,  so."  This  operation,  like 
most  feminine  embellishments  of  the  masculine  toilet,  was 
attended  by  a  kiss,  and  Flip,  stepping  back  into  the 
shadow,  vanished  in  the  storm. 

Lance's  first  movements  were  inconsistent  with  his  as 
sumed  sex.  He  picked  up  his  draggled  skirt  and  drew  a 
bowie-knife  from  his  boot.  From  his  bosom  he  took  a 
revolver,  turning  the  chambers  noiselessly  as  he  felt  the 
caps.  He  then  crept  toward  the  cabin  softly  and  gained 
the  shed.  It  was  quite  dark  but  for  a  pencil  of  light 
piercing  a  crack  of  the  rude,  ill-fitting  door  that  opened  on 
the  sitting-room.  A  single  voice  not  unfamiliar  to  him, 
raised  in  half-brutal  triumph,  greeted  his  ears.  A  name 
was  mentioned  —  his  own  !  His  angry  hand  was  on  the 
latch.  One  moment  more  and  he  would  have  burst  the 
door,  but  in  that  instant  another  name  was  uttered  —  a 
name  that  dropped  his  hand  from  the  latch  and  the  blood 
from  his  cheeks.  He  staggered  backward,  passed  his 
hand  swiftly  across  his  forehead,  recovered  himself  with  a 
gesture  of  mingled  rage  and  despair,  and,  sinking  on  his 
knees  beside  the  door,  pressed  his  hot  temples  against 
the  crack. 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          49 

"  Do  I  know  Lance  Harriott  ? "  said  the  voice.  "  Do 
I  know  the  d — d  ruffian  ?  Did  n't  I  hunt  him  a  year  ago 
into  the  brush  three  miles  from  the  Crossing  ?  Did  n't 
we  lose  sight  of  him  the  very  day  he  turned  up  yer  at 
this  ranch,  and  got  smuggled  over  into  Monterey  ?  Ain't 
it  the  same  man  as  killed  Arkansaw  Bob  —  Bob  Ridley  — 
the  name  he  went  by  in  Sonora  ?  And  who  was  Bob 
Ridley,  eh  ?  Who  ?  Why,  you  d — d  old  fool,  it  was  Bob 
Fairley  —  YOUR  SON  !  " 

The  old  man's  voice  rose  querulous  and  indistinct. 

"  What  are  ye  talkin'  about  ?  "  interrupted  the  first 
speaker.  I  tell  you  I  know.  Look  at  these  pictures.  I 
found  'em  on  his  body.  Look  at  'em.  Pictures  of  you 
and  your  girl.  Pr'aps  you  '11  deny  them.  Pr'aps  you  '11 
tell  me  I  lie  when  I  tell  you  he  told  me  he  was  your  son ; 
told  me  how  he  ran  away  from  you ;  how  you  were  livin' 
somewhere  in  the  mountains  makin'  gold,  or  suthin'  else, 
outer  charcoal.  He  told  me  who  he  was  as  a  secret.  He 
never  let  on  he  told  it  to  any  one  else.  And  when  I  found 
that  the  man  who  killed  him,  Lance  Harriott,  had  been 
hidin'  here,  had  been  sendin'  spies  all  around  to  find  out 
all  about  your  son,  had  been  foolin'  you,  and  tryin'  to  ruin 
your  gal  as  he  had  killed  your  boy,  I  knew  that  he  knew  it 
too." 

"  LIAR  !  " 

The  door  fell  in  with  a  crash.  There  was  the  sudden 
apparition  of  the  demoniac  face,  still  half  hidden  by  the 
long  trailing  black  locks  of  hair  that  curled  like  Medusa's 
around  it.  A  cry  of  terror  filled  the  room.  Three  of  the 
men  dashed  from  the  door  and  fled  precipitately.  The 
man  who  had  spoken  sprang  toward  his  rifle  in  the  chim 
ney  corner.  But  the  movement  was  his  last  ;  a  blinding 
flash  and  shattering  report  interposed  between  him  and  his 
weapon.  The  impulse  carried  him  forward  headlong  into 
the  fire,  that  hissed  and  spluttered  with  his  blood,  and 


50          Flip  :  A   California  Romance. 

Lance  Harriott,  with  his  smoking  pistol,  strode  past  him 
to  the  door.  Already  far  down  the  trail  there  were  hur 
ried  voices,  the  crack  and  crackling  of  impending  branches 
growing  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  distance.  Lance  turned 
back  to  the  solitary  living  figure  —  the  old  man. 

Yet  he  might  have  been  dead  too,  he  sat  so  rigid  and 
motionless,  his  fixed  eyes  staring  vacantly  at  the  body  on 
the  hearth.  Before  him  on  the  table  lay  the  cheap  pho 
tographs,  one  evidently  of  himself,  taken  in  some  remote 
epoch  of  complexion,  one  of  a  child  which  Lance  recog 
nized  as  Flip. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Lance  hoarsely,  laying  his  quivering 
hand  on  the  table,  "  was  Bob  Ridley  your  son  ? " 

"My  son,"  echoed  the  old  man  in  a  strange,  far-off 
voice,  without  turning  his  eyes  from  the  corpse,  —  "  my 
son  —  is  —  is  —  is  there  !  "  pointing  to  the  dead  man. 
"  Hush  !  Did  n't  he  tell  you  so  ?  Did  n't  you  hear  him 
say  it  ?  Dead  —  dead  —  shot  —  shot !  " 

"  Silence !  are  you  crazy,  man  ? "  interposed  Lance, 
tremblingly ;  "  that  is  not  Bob  Ridley,  but  a  dog,  a 
coward,  a  liar,  gone  to  his  reckoning.  Hear  me !  If 
your  son  was  Bob  Ridley,  I  swear  to  God  I  never  knew 
it,  now  or  —  or  —  then.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Tell  me  ! 
Do  you  believe  me  ?  Speak !  You  shall  speak ! " 

He  laid  his  hand  almost  menacingly  on  the  old  man's 
shoulder.  Fairley  slowly  raised  his  head.  Lance  fell 
back  with  a  groan  of  horror.  The  weak  lips  were  wreathed 
with  a  feeble  imploring  smile,  but  the  eyes  wherein  the 
fretful,  peevish,  suspicious  spirit  had  dwelt  were  blank 
and  tenantless  ;  the  flickering  intellect  that  had  lit  them 
was  blown  out  and  vanished. 

Lance  walked  toward  the  door  and  remained  motion 
less  for  a  moment,  gazing  into  the  night.  When  he 
turned  back  again  toward  the  fire  his  face  was  as  color 
less  as  the  dead  man's  on  the  hearth ;  the  fire  of  passion 


Flip:  A   California  Romance.          51 

was  gone  from  his  beaten  eyes ;  his  step  was  hesitating 
and  slow.  He  went  up  to  the  table. 

"  I  say,  old  man,"  he  said,  with  a  strange  smile  and  an 
odd,  premature  suggestion  of  the  infinite  weariness  of 
death  in  his  voice,. "you  would  n't  mind  giving  me  this, 
would  you  ?  "  and  he  took  up  the  picture  of  Flip.  The 
old  man  nodded  repeatedly.  "  Thank  you,"  said  Lance. 
He  went  to  the  door,  paused  a  moment,  and  returned. 
"  Good-by,  old  man,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 
Fairley  took  it  with  a  childish  smile.  "  He 's  dead,"  said 
the  old  man  softly,  holding  Lance's  hand,  but  pointing  to 
the  hearth.  "Yes,"  said  Lance,  with  the  faintest  of 
smiles  on  the  palest  of  faces.  "  You  feel  sorry  for  any 
one  that 's  dead,  don't  you  ? "  Fairley  nodded  again. 
Lance  looked  at  him  with  eyes  as  remote  as  his  own, 
shook  his  head,  and  turned  away.  When  he  reached  the 
door  he  laid  his  revolver  carefully,  and,  indeed,  somewhat 
ostentatiously,  upon  a  chair.  But  when  he  stepped  from 
the  threshold  he  stopped  a  moment  in  the  light  of  the 
open  door  to  examine  the  lock  of  a  small  derringer  which 
he  drew  from  his  pocket.  He  then  shut  the  door  care 
fully,  and  with  the  same  slow,  hesitating  step,  felt  his  way 
into  the  night. 

He  had  but  one  idea  in  his  mind,  to  find  some  lonely 
spot ;  some  spot  where  the  footsteps  of  man  would  never 
penetrate,  some  spot  that  would  yield  him  rest,  sleep,  ob 
literation,  forgetfulness,  and,  above  all,  where  he  would 
be  forgotten.  He  had  seen  such  places;  surely  there 
were  many,  —  where  bones  were  picked  up  of  dead  men 
who  had  faded  from  the  earth  and  had  left  no  other  rec 
ord.  If  he  could  only  keep  his  senses  now  he  might  find 
such  a  spot,  but  he  must  be  careful,  for  her  little  feet 
went  everywhere,  and  she  must  never  see  him  again  alive 
or  dead.  And  in  the  midst  of  his  thoughts,  and  the 


52          Flip:  A   California  Romance, 

darkness,  and  the  storm,  he  heard  a  voice  at  his  side, 
"  Lance,  how  long  you  have  been  ! " 

Left  to  himself,  the  old  man  again  fell  into  a  vacant 
contemplation  of  the  dead  body  before  him,  until  a 
stronger  blast  swept  down  like  an  avalanche  upon  the 
cabin,  burst  through  the  ill-fastened  door  and  broken 
chimney,  and,  dashing  the  ashes  and  living  embers  over 
the  floor,  filled  the  room  with  blinding  smoke,and  flame. 
Fairley  rose  with  a  feeble  cry,  and  then,  as  if  acted  upon 
by  some  dominant  memory,  groped  under  the  bed  until 
he  found  his  buckskin  bag  and  his  precious  crystal,  and 
fled  precipitately  from  the  room.  Lifted  by  this  second 
shock  from  his  apathy,  he  returned  to  the  fixed  idea  of 
his  life,  —  the  discovery  and  creation  of  the  diamond, — 
and  forgot  all  else.  The  feeble  grasp  that  his  shaken  in 
tellect  kept  of  the  events  of  the  night  relaxed,  the  dis 
guised  Lance,  the  story  of  his  son,  the  murder,  slipped 
into  nothingness ;  there  remained  only  the  one  idea,  his 
nightly  watch  by  the  diamond  pit.  The  instinct  of  long 
habit  was  stronger  than  the  darkness  or  the  onset  of  the 
storm,  and  he  kept  his  tottering  way  over  stream  and 
fallen  timber  until  he  reached  the  spot.  A  sudden  tremor 
seemed  to  shake  the  lambent  flame  that  had  lured  him 
on.  He  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices;  there 
were  signs  of  recent  disturbance,  —  footprints  in  the  saw 
dust  !  With  a  cry  of  rage  and  suspicion,  Fairley  slipped 
into  the  pit  and  sprang  toward  the  nearest  opening.  To 
his  frenzied  fancy  it  had  been  tampered  with,  his  secret 
discovered,  the  fruit  of  his  long  labors  stolen  from  him 
that  very  night.  With  superhuman  strength  he  began  to 
open  the  pit,  scattering  the  half-charred  logs  right  and  left, 
and  giving  vent  to  the  suffocating  gases  that  rose  from 
the  now  incandescent  charcoal.  At  times  the  fury  of  the 
gale  would  drive  it  back  and  hold  it  against  the  sides  of 


Flip:  A  California  Romance.          53 

the  pit,  leaving  the  opening  free  ;  at  times,  following  the 
blind  instinct  of  habit,  the  demented  man  would  fall  upon 
his  face  and  bury  his  nose  and  mouth  in  the  wet  bark 
and  sawdust.  At  last,  the  paroxysm  past,  he  sank  back 
again  into  his  old  apathetic  attitude  of  watching,  the  atti 
tude  he  had  so  often  kept  beside  his  sylvan  crucible.  In 
this  attitude  and  in  silence  he  waited  for  the  dawn. 

It  came  with  a  hush  in  the  storm  ;  it  came  with  blue 
openings  in  the  broken  up  and  tumbled  heavens ;  it  came 
with  stars  that  glistened  first,  and  then  paled,  and  at  last 
sank  drowning  in  those  deep  cerulean  lakes  ;  it  came  with 
those  cerulean  lakes  broadening  into  vaster  seas,  whose 
shores  expanded  at  last  into  one  illimitable  ocean,  ceru 
lean  no  more,  but  flecked  with  crimson  and  opal  dyes ;  it 
came  with  the  lightly  lifted  misty  curtain  of  the  day,  torn 
and  rent  on  crag  and  pine-top,  but  always  lifting,  lifting. 
It  came  with  the  sparkle  of  emerald  in  the  grasses,  and 
the  flash  of  diamonds  in  every  spray,  with  a  whisper  in 
the  awakening  woods,  and  voices  in  the  traveled  roads 
and  trails. 

The  sound  of  these  voices  stopped  before  the  pit,  and 
seemed  to  interrogate  the  old  man.  He  came,  and,  put 
ting  his  finger  on  his  lips,  made  a  sign  of  caution.  When 
three  or  four  men  had  descended  he  bade  them  follow 
him,  saying,  weakly  and  disjoin tedly,  but  persistently : 
"  My  boy  —  my  son  Robert  —  came  home  —  came  home 
at  last  —  here  with  Flip  —  both  of  them  —  come  and 
see!" 

He  had  reached  a  little  niche  or  nest  in  the  hillside, 
and  stopped,  and  suddenly  drew  aside  a  blanket.  Be 
neath  it,  side  by  side,  lay  Flip  and  Lance,  dead,  with 
their  cold  hands  clasped  in  each  other's. 

"  Suffocated ! "  said  two  or  three,  turning  with  horror 
toward  the  broken  up  and  still  smouldering  pit. 

"  Asleep !  "  said  the  old  man.     "  Asleep !  I've  seen  'em 


54          Flip:  A  California  Romance. 

lying  that  way  when  they  were  babies  together.  Don't 
tell  me !  Don't  say  I  don't  know  my  own  flesh  and 
blood  !  So  !  so  !  So,  my  pretty  ones  !  "  He  stooped  and 
kissed  them.  Then,  drawing  the  blanket  over  them 
gently,  he  rose  and  said  softly,  "  Good  night ! " 


at  'Biasing 


THE  rain  had  only  ceased  with  the  gray  streaks  of 
morning  at  Blazing  Star,  and  the  settlement  awoke  to  a 
moral  sense  of  cleanliness,  and  the  finding  of  forgotten 
knives,  tin  cups,  and  smaller  camp  utensils,  where  the 
heavy  showers  had  washed  away  the  debris  and  dust 
heaps  before  the  cabin-doors.  Indeed,  it  was  recorded 
in  Blazing  Star  that  a  fortunate  early  riser  had  once 
picked  up  on  the  highway  a  solid  chunk  of  gold  quartz 
which  the  rain  had  freed  from  its  incumbering  soil,  and 
washed  into  immediate  and  glittering  popularity.  Possi 
bly  this  may  have  been  the  reason  why  early  risers  in 
that  locality,  during  the  rainy  season,  adopted  a  thought 
ful  habit  of  body,  and  seldom  lifted  their  eyes  to  the 
rifted  or  india-ink  washed  skies  above  them. 

"  Cass  "  Beard  had  risen  early  that  morning,  but  not 
with  a  view  to  discovery.  A  leak  in  his  cabin  roof  — 
quite  consistent  with  his  careless,  improvident  habits  — 
had  roused  him  at  4  A.  M.,  with  a  flooded  "  bunk  "  and 
wet  blankets.  The  chips  from  his  wood  pile  refused  to 
kindle  a  fire  to  dry  his  bedclothes,  and  he  had  recourse 
to  a  more  provident  neighbor's  to  supply  the  deficiency. 
This  was  nearly  opposite.  Mr.  Cassius  crossed  the  high 
way,  and  stopped  suddenly.  Something  glittered  in  the 
nearest  red  pool  before  him.  Gold,  surely  !  But,  wonder 
ful  to  relate,  not  an  irregular,  shapeless  fragment  of  crude 
ore,  fresh  from  Nature's  crucible,  but  a  bit  of  jeweler's 
handicraft  in  the  form  of  a  plain  gold  ring.  Looking  at 
it  more  attentively,  he  saw  that  it  bore  the  inscription, 
"  May  to  Cass." 


56  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

Like  most  of  his  fellow  gold-seekers,  Cass  was  super 
stitious.  "  Cass  ! "  His  own  name  !  He  tried  the  ring. 
It  fitted  his  little  *nger  closely.  It  was  evidently  a 
woman's  ring.  He  looked  up  and  down  the  highway. 
No  one  was  yet  stirring.  Little  pools  of  water  in  the  red 
road  were  beginning  to  glitter  and  grow  rosy  from  the 
far-flushing  east,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  the  owner  of 
the  shining  waif.  He  knew  that  there  was  no  woman  in 
camp,  and  among  his  few  comrades  in  the  settlement  he 
remembered  to  have  seen  none  wearing  an  ornament  like 
that.  Again,  the  coincidence  of  the  inscription  to  his 
rather  peculiar  nickname  would  have  been  a  perennial 
source  of  playful  comment  in  a  camp  that  made  no  al 
lowance  for  sentimental  memories.  He  slipped  the  glit 
tering  little  hoop  into  his  pocket,  and  thoughtfully 
returned  to  his  cabin. 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  long,  straggling  procession, 
which  every  morning  wended  its  way  to  Blazing  Star 
Gulch,  —  the  seat  of  mining  operations  in  the  settlement, 
—  began  to  move,  Cass  saw  fit  to  interrogate  his  fellows. 

"  Ye  did  n't  none  on  ye  happen  to  drop  anything  round 
yer  last  night  ?  "  he  asked,  cautiously. 

"  I  dropped  a  pocketbook  containing  government  bonds 
and  some  other  securities,  with  between  fifty  and  sixty 
thousand  dollars,"  responded  Peter  Drummond,  care 
lessly  ;  "  but  no  matter,  if  any  man  will  return  a  few  au 
tograph  letters  from  foreign  potentates  that  happened  to 
be  in  it,  —  of  no  value  to  anybody  but  the  owner,  —  he 
can  keep  the  money.  Thar 's  nothin'  mean  about  me," 
he  concluded,  languidly. 

This  statement,  bearing  every  evidence  of  the  grossest 
mendacity,  was  lightly  passed  over,  and  the  men  walked 
on  with  the  deepest  gravity. 

"  But  hev  you  ?  "  Cass  presently  asked  of  another. 

"  I  lost  my  pile  to  Jack  Hamlin  at  draw-poker,  over  at 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  57 

Wingdam  last  night,"  returned  the  other,  pensively,  "but 
I  don't  calkilate  to  find  it  lying  round  loose." 

Forced  at  last  by  this  kind  of  irony  into  more  detailed 
explanation,  Cass  confided  to  them  his  discovery,  and 
produced  his  treasure.  The  result  was  a  dozen  vague 
surmises,  —  only  one  of  which  seemed  to  be  popular,  and 
to  suit  the  dyspeptic  despondency  of  the  party,  —  a  de 
spondency  born  of  hastily  masticated  fried  pork  and  flap 
jacks.  The  ring  was  believed  to  have  been  dropped  by 
some  passing  "  road  agent "  laden  with  guilty  spoil. 

"  Ef  I  was  you,"  said  Drummond  gloomily,  "  I  would  n't 
flourish  that  yer  ring  around  much  afore  folks.  I  've  seen 
better  men  nor  you  strung  up  a  tree  by  Vigilantes  for  hav 
ing  even  less  than  that  in  their  possession." 

"  And  I  would  n't  say  much  about  bein'  up  so  d — d 
early  this  morning,"  added  an  even  more  pessimistic  com 
rade  ;  "  it  might  look  bad  before  a  jury." 

With  this  the  men  sadly  dispersed,  leaving  the  inno 
cent  Cass  with  the  ring  in  his  hand,  and  a  general  im 
pression  on  his  mind  that  he  was  already  an  object  of 
suspicion  to  his  comrades,  —  an  impression,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say,  they  fully  intended  should  be  left  to 
rankle  in  his  guileless  bosom. 

Notwithstanding  Cass's  first  hopeful  superstition,  the 
ring  did  not  seem  to  bring  him  nor  the  camp  any  luck. 
Daily  the  "  clean  up  "  brought  the  same  scant  rewards  to 
their  labors,  and  deepened  the  sardonic  gravity  of  Blaz 
ing  Star.  But,  if  Cass  found  no  material  result  from  his 
treasure,  it  stimulated  his  lazy  imagination,  and,  albeit  a 
dangerous  and  seductive  stimulant,  at  least  lifted  him 
out  of  the  monotonous  grooves  of  his  half-careless,  half- 
slovenly,  but  always  self-contented  camp  life.  Heeding 
the  wise  caution  of  his  comrades,  he  took  the  habit  of 
wearing  the  ring  only  at  night.  Wrapped  in  his  blanket, 
he  stealthily  slipped  the  golden  circlet  over  his  little 


58  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

finger,  and,  as  he  averred,  "  slept  all  the  better  for  it." 
Whether  it  ever  evoked  any  warmer  dream  or  vision  dur 
ing  those  calm,  cold,  virgin-like  spring  nights,  when  even 
the  moon  and  the  greater  planets  retreated  into  the  icy 
blue,  steel-like  firmament,  I  cannot  say.  Enough  that 
this  superstition  began  to  be  colored  a  little  by  fancy, 
and  his  fatalism  somewhat  mitigated  by  hope.  Dreams 
of  this  kind  did  not  tend  to  promote  his  efficiency  in  the 
communistic  labors  of  the  camp,  and  brought  him  a  self- 
isolation  that,  however  gratifying  at  first,  soon  debarred 
him  the  benefits  of  that  hard  practical  wisdom  which  un 
derlaid  the  grumbling  of  his  fellow-workers. 

"  I  'm  dog-goned,"  said  one  commentator,  "  ef  I  don't 
believe  that  Cass  is  looney  over  that  yer  ring  he  found. 
Wears  it  on  a  string  under  his  shirt." 

Meantime,  the  seasons  did  not  wait  the  discovery  of 
the  secret.  The  red  pools  in  Blazing  Star  highway  were 
soon  dried  up  in  the  fervent  June  sun  and  riotous  night 
winds  of  those  altitudes.  The  ephemeral  grasses  that 
had  quickly  supplanted  these  pools  and  the  chocolate- 
colored  mud,  were  as  quickly  parched  and  withered.  The 
footprints  of  spring  became  vague  and  indefinite,  and 
were  finally  lost  in  the  impalpable  dust  of  the  summer 
highway. 

In  one  of  his  long,  aimless  excursions,  Cass  had  pene 
trated  a  thick  undergrowth  of  buckeye  and  hazel,  and 
found  himself  quite  unexpectedly  upon  the  high  road  to 
Red  Chief's  Crossing.  Cass  knew  by  the  lurid  cloud  of 
dust  that  hid  the  distance,  that  the  up  coach  had  passed. 
He  had  already  reached  that  stage  of  superstition  when 
the  most  trivial  occurrence  seemed  to  point  in  some  way 
to  an  elucidation  of  the  mystery  of  his  treasure.  His 
eyes  had  mechanically  fallen  to  the  ground  again,  as  if 
he  half  expected  to  find  in  some  other  waif  a  hint  or  cor- 
roboration  of  his  imaginings.  Thus  abstracted,  the  figure 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  59 

of  a  young  girl  on  horseback,  in  the  road  directly  before 
the  bushes  he  emerged  from,  appeared  to  have  sprung 
directly  from  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  come  here,  please  do  ;  quick  !  " 

Cass  stared,  and  then  moved  hesitatingly  toward  her. 

"  I  heard  some  one  coming  through  the  bushes,  and  I 
waited,"  she  went  on.  "  Come  quick.  It  's  something 
too  awful  for  anything." 

In  spite  of  this  appalling  introduction,  Cass  could  not 
but  notice  that  the  voice,  although  hurried  and  excited, 
was  by  no  means  agitated  or  frightened  ;  that  the  eyes 
which  looked  into  his  sparkled  with  a  certain  kind  of 
pleased  curiosity. 

"It  was  just  here,"  she  went  on  vivaciously,  "just  here 
that  I  went  into  the  bush  and  cut  a  switch  for  my  mare,  — 
and,"  —  leading  him  along  at  a  brisk  trot  by  her  side,  — 
"  just  here,  look,  see !  this  is  what  I  found." 

It  was  scarcely  thirty  feet  from  the  road.  The  only  ob 
ject  that  met  Cass's  eye  was  a  man's  stiff,  tall  hat,  lying 
emptily  and  vacantly  in  the  grass.  It  was  new,  shiny,  and 
of  modish  shape.  But  it  was  so  incongruous,  so  perkily 
smart,  and  yet  so  feeble  and  helpless  lying  there,  so 
ghastly  ludicrous  in  its  very  appropriateness  and  inca 
pacity  to  adjust  itself  to  the  surrounding  landscape,  that 
it  affected  him  with  something  more  than  a  sense  of  its 
grotesqueness,  and  he  could  only  stare  at  it  blankly. 

"  But  you  're  not  looking  the  right  way,"  the  girl  went 
on  sharply ;  "  look  there  !  " 

Cass  followed  the  direction  of  her  whip.  At  last,  what 
might  have  seemed  a  coat  thrown  carelessly  on  the 
ground  met  his  eye,  but  presently  he  became  aware  of  a 
white,  rigid,  aimlessly-clinched  hand  protruding  from  the 
flaccid  sleeve  ;  mingled  with  it  in  some  absurd  way  and 
half  hidden  by  the  grass,  lay  what  might  have  been  a  pair 
of  cast-off  trousers  but  for  two  rigid  boots  that  pointed  in 


60  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

opposite  angles  to  the  sky.  It  was  a  dead  man  !  So  pal 
pably  dead  that  life  seemed  to  have  taken  flight  from  his 
very  clothes.  So  impotent,  feeble,  and  degraded  by 
them  that  the  naked  subject  of  a  dissecting  table  would 
have  been  less  insulting  to  humanity.  The  head  had 
fallen  back,  and  was  partly  hidden  in  a  gopher  burrow, 
but  the  white,  upturned  face  and  closed  eyes  had  less 
of  helpless  death  in  them  than  those  wretched  enwrap- 
pings.  Indeed,  one  limp  hand  that  lay  across  the  swollen 
abdomen  lent  itself  to  the  grotesquely  hideous  sugges 
tion  of  a  gentleman  sleeping  off  the  excesses  of  a  hearty 
dinner. 

"  Ain't  he  horrid  ? "  continued  the  girl ;  "  but  what 
killed  him  ?  " 

Struggling  between  a  certain  fascination  at  the  girl's 
cold-blooded  curiosity  and  horror  of  the  murdered  man, 
Cass  hesitatingly  lifted  the  helpless  head.  A  bluish  hole 
above  the  right  temple,  and  a  few  brown  paint-like  spots 
on  the  forehead,  shirt  collar,  and  matted  hair,  proved  the 
only  record. 

"Turn  him  over  again,"  said  the  girl,  impatiently,  as 
Cass  was  about  to  relinquish  his  burden.  "  Maybe 
you  '11  find  another  wound." 

But  Cass  was  dimly  remembering  certain  formalities 
that  in  older  civilizations  attend  the  discovery  of  dead 
bodies,  and  postponed  a  present  inquest. 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  better  ride  on,  Miss,  afore  you  get 
summoned  as  a  witness.  I  '11  give  warning  at  Red  Chief's 
Crossing,  and  send  the  coroner  down  here." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  she  said,  earnestly ;  "  it  would 
be  such  fun.  I  don't  mind  being  a  witness.  Or,"  she 
added,  without  heeding  Cass's  look  of  astonishment,  "  I  '11 
wait  here  till  you  come  back." 

"  But  you  see,  Miss,  it  would  n't  seem  right  "  —  began 
Cass. 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  61 

"  But  I  found  him  first,"  interrupted  the  girl,  with  a 
pout. 

Staggered  by  this  preemptive  right,  sacred  to  all  min 
ers,  Cass  stopped. 

"  Who  is  the  coroner  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Joe  Hornsby." 

"  The  tall,  lame  man,  who  was  half  eaten  by  a  griz 
zly  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  look  now !  I  '11  ride  on  and  bring  him  back  in 
half  an  hour.  There  !  " 

"  But,  Miss  — !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me.  I  never  saw  anything  of  this 
kind  before,  and  I  want  to  see  it  all." 

"  Do  you  know  Hornsby  ?  "  asked  Cass,  unconsciously 
a  trifle  irritated. 

"  No,  but  I  '11  bring  him."  She  wheeled  her  horse  into 
the  road. 

In  the  presence  of  this  living  energy  Cass  quite  forgot 
the  helpless  dead.  "  Have  you  been  long  in  these  parts, 
Miss  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  About  two  weeks,"  she  answered,  shortly.  "  Good-by, 
just  now.  Look  around  for  the  pistol  or  anything  else 
you  can  find,  although  /  have  been  over  the  whole  ground 
twice  already." 

A  little  puff  of  dust  as  the  horse  sprang  into  the  road, 
a  muffled  shuffle,  struggle,  then  the  regular  beat  of  hoofs, 
and  she  was  gone. 

After  five  minutes  had  passed,  Cass  regretted  that  he 
had  not  accompanied  her :  waiting  in  such  a  spot  was  an 
irksome  task.  Not  that  there  was  anything  in  the  scene 
itself  to  awaken  gloomy  imaginings  j  the  bright,  truthful 
Californian  sunshine  scoffed  at  any  illusion  of  creeping 
shadows  or  waving  branches.  Once,  in  the  rising  wind, 
the  empty  hat  rolled  over  —  but  only  in  a  ludicrous, 


62  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

drunken  way.  A  search  for  any  further  sign  or  token 
had  proved  futile,  and  Cass  grew  impatient.  He  began 
to  hate  himself  for  having  stayed  ;  he  would  have  fled  but 
for  shame.  Nor  was  his  good  -  humor  restored  when  at 
the  close  of  a  weary  half  hour  two  galloping  figures 
emerged  from  the  dusty  horizon  —  Hornsby  and  the 
young  girl. 

His  vague  annoyance  increased  as  he  fancied  that 
both  seemed  to  ignore  him,  the  coroner  barely  acknowl 
edging  his  presence  with  a  nod.  Assisted  by  the  young 
girl,  whose  energy  and  enthusiasm  evidently  delighted 
him,  Hornsby  raised  the  body  for  a  more  careful  exami 
nation.  The  dead  man's  pockets  were  carefully  searched. 
A  few  coins,  a  silver  pencil,  knife,  and  tobacco-box  were 
all  they  found.  It  gave  no  clew  to  his  identity.  Sud 
denly  the  young  girl,  who  had,  with  unabashed  curiosity, 
knelt  beside  the  exploring  official  hands  of  the  Red  Chief, 
uttered  a  cry  of  gratification. 

"  Here  's  something  !  It  dropped  from  the  bosom  of 
his  shirt  on  the  ground..  Look  !  " 

She  was  holding  in  the  air,  between  her  thumb  and 
forefinger,  a  folded  bit  of  well-worn  newspaper.  Her 
eyes  sparkled. 

"  Shall  I  open  it  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  It 's  a  little  ring,"  she  said  ;  "  looks  like  an  engage 
ment  ring.  Something  is  written  on  it.  Look !  '  May 
to  Cass.' " 

Cass  darted  forward.  "  It 's  mine,"  he  stammered, 
"mine  !  I  dropped  it.  It's  nothing  —  nothing,"  he  went 
on,  after  a  pause,  embarrassed  and  blushing,  as  the  girl 
and  her  companion  both  stared  at  him  —  "a  mere  trifle. 
I  '11  take  it." 

But  the  coroner  opposed  his  outstretched  hand.  "  Not 
much,"  he  said,  significantly. 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  63 

" But  it 's  mine"  continued  Cass,  indignation  taking 
the  place  of  shame  at  his  discovered  secret.  "  I  found  it 
six  months  ago  in  the  road.  I  —  picked  it  up." 

"  With  your  name  already  written  on  it !  How  handy ! " 
said  the  coroner,  grimly. 

"It's  an  old  story,"  said  Cass,  blushing  again  under 
the  half  mischievous,  half  searching  eyes  of  the  girl. 
"All  Blazing  Star  knows  I  found  it." 

"  Then  ye  '11  have  no  difficulty  in  provin'  it,"  said 
Hornsby,  coolly.  "  Just  now,  however,  we  've  found  it, 
and  we  propose  to  keep  it  for  the  inquest." 

Cass  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Further  altercation  would 
have  only  heightened  his  ludicrous  situation  in  the  girl's 
eyes.  He  turned  away,  leaving  his  treasure  in  the  cor 
oner's  hands. 

The  inquest,  a  day  or  two  later,  was  prompt  and  final. 
No  clew  to  the  dead  man's  identity ;  no  evidence  suf 
ficiently  strong  to  prove  murder  or  suicide  ;  no  trace  of 
any  kind,  inculpating  any  party,  known  or  unknown, 
were  found.  But  much  publicity  and  interest  were  given 
to  the  proceedings  by  the  presence  of  the  principal  wit 
ness,  a  handsome  girl.  "  To  the  pluck,  persistency,  and 
intellect  of  Miss  Porter,"  said  the  "  Red  Chief  Recorder," 
"  Tuolumne  County  owes  the  recovery  of  the  body." 

No  one  who  was  present  at  the  inquest  failed  to  be 
charmed  with  the  appearance  and  conduct  of  this  beauti 
ful  young  lady. 

"  Miss  Porter  has  but  lately  arrived  in  this  district,  in 
which,  it  is  hoped,  she  will  become  an  honored  resident, 
and  continue  to  set  an  example  to  all  lackadaisical  and 
sentimental  members  of  the  so-called  '  sterner  sex.' " 
After  this  universally  recognized  allusion  to  Cass  Beard, 
the  "  Recorder  "  returned  to  its  record  :  "  Some  interest 
was  excited  by  what  appeared  to  be  a  clew  to  the  mystery 
in  the  discovery  of  a  small  gold  engagement  ring  on  the 


64  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

body.  Evidence  was  afterward  offered  to  show  it  was 
the  property  of  a  Mr.  Cass  Beard  of  Blazing  Star,  who 
appeared  upon  the  scene  after  the  discovery  of  the  corpse 
by  Miss  Porter.  He  alleged  he  had  dropped  it  in  lift 
ing  the  unfortunate  remains  of  the  deceased.  Much 
amusement  was  created  in  court  by  the  sentimental  con 
fusion  of  the  claimant,  and  a  certain  partisan  spirit  shown 
by  his  fellow-miners  of  Blazing  Star.  It  appearing,  how 
ever,  by  the  admission  of  this  sighing  Strephon  of  the 
Foot  Hills,  that  he  had  himself  found  this  pledge  of  affec 
tion  lying  in  the  highway  six  months  previous,  the  coroner 
wisely  placed  it  in  the  safe-keeping  of  the  county  court 
until  the  appearance  of  the  rightful  owner." 

Thus  on  the  i3th  of  September,  186-,  the  treasure 
found  at  Blazing  Star  passed  out  of  the  hands  of  its 
finder. 

Autumn  brought  an  abrupt  explanation  of  the  mystery. 
Kanaka  Joe  had  been  arrested  for  horse-stealing,  but  had 
with  noble  candor  confessed  to  the  finer  offense  of  man 
slaughter.  That  swift  and  sure  justice  which  overtook 
the  horse-stealer  in  these  altitudes  was  stayed  a  moment 
and  hesitated,  for  the  victim  was  clearly  the  mysterious 
unknown.  Curiosity  got  the  better  of  an  extempore 
judge  and  jury. 

"  It  was  a  fair  fight,"  said  the  accused,  not  without 
some  human  vanity,  feeling  that  the  camp  hung  upon  his 
words,  "  and  was  settled  by  the  man  az  was  peartest  and 
liveliest  with  his  weapon.  We  had  a  sort  of  unpleasant 
ness  over  at  Lagrange  the  night  afore,  along  of  our  both 
hevin'  a  monotony  of  four  aces.  We  had  a  clinch  and  a 
stamp  around,  and  when  we  was  separated  it  was  only  a 
question  of  shootin'  on  sight.  He  left  Lagrange  at  sun 
up  the  next  morning,  and  I  struck  across  a  bit  o'  buck 
eye  and  underbrush  and  came  upon  him,  accidental  like, 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  65 

on  the  Red  Chief  Road.  I  drawed  when  I  sighted  him, 
and  called  out.  He  slipped  from  his  mare  and  covered 
himself  with  her  flanks,  reaching  for  his  holster,  but  she 
rared  and  backed  down  on  him  across  the  road  and  into 
the  grass,  where  I  got  in  another  shot  and  fetched  him." 

"  And  you  stole  his  mare  ?  "  suggested  the  Judge. 

"  I  got  away,"  said  the  gambler,  simply. 

Further  questioning  only  elicited  the  fact  that  Joe  did 
not  know  the  name  or  condition  of  his  victim.  He  was  a 
stranger  in  Lagrange. 

It  was  a  breezy  afternoon,  with  some  turbulency  in  the 
camp,  and  much  windy  discussion  over  this  unwonted 
delay  of  justice.  The  suggestion  that  Joe  should  be 
first  hanged  for  horse  stealing  and  then  tried  for  murder 
was  angrily  discussed,  but  milder  counsels  were  offered 
—  that  the  fact  of  the  killing  should  be  admitted  only 
as  proof  of  the  theft.  A  large  party  from  Red  Chief 
had  come  over  to  assist  in  judgment,  among  them  the 
coroner. 

Cass  Beard  had  avoided  these  proceedings,  which  only 
recalled  an  unpleasant  experience,  and  was  wandering 
with  pick,  pan,  and  wallet  far  from  the  camp.  These  ac 
coutrements,  as  I  have  before  intimated,  justified  any  form 
of  aimless  idleness  under  the  equally  aimless  title  of 
"  prospecting."  He  had  at  the  end  of  three  hours'  re 
laxation  reached  the  highway  to  Red  Chief,  half  hidden 
by  blinding  clouds  of  dust  torn  from  the  crumbling  red 
road  at  every  gust  which  swept  down  the  mountain  side. 
The  spot  had  a  familiar  aspect  to  Cass,  although  some 
freshly-dug  holes  near  the  wayside,  with  scattered  earth 
beside  them,  showed  the  presence  of  a  recent  prospector. 
He  was  struggling  with  his  memory,  when  the  dust  was 
suddenly  dispersed  and  he  found  himself  again  at  the 
scene  of  the  murder.  He  started  :  he  had  not  put  foot 
on  the  road  since  the  inquest.  There  lacked  only  the 


66  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

helpless  dead  man  and  the  contrasting  figure  of  the  alert 
young  woman  to  restore  the  picture.  The  body  was 
gone,  it  was  true,  but  as  he  turned  he  beheld  Miss  Porter, 
at  a  few  paces  distant,  sitting  her  horse  as  energetic  and 
observant  as  on  the  first  morning  they  had  met.  A  su 
perstitious  thrill  passed  over  him  and  awoke  his  old 
antagonism. 

She  nodded  to  him  slightly.  "  I  came  here  to  refresh 
my  memory,"  she  said,  "  as  Mr.  Hornsby  thought  I  might 
be  asked  to  give  my  evidence  again  at  Blazing  Star." 

Cass  carelessly  struck  an  aimless  blow  with  his  pick 
against  the  sod  and  did  not  reply. 

"  And  you  ? "  she  queried. 

"/stumbled  upon  the  place  just  now  while  prospecting, 
or  I  should  n't  be  here." 

"  Then  it  was  you  made  these  holes  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Cass,  with  ill-concealed  disgust.  "  Nobody 
but  a  stranger  would  go  foolin'  round  such  a  spot." 

He  stopped,  as  the  rude  significance  of  his  speech 
struck  him,  and  added  surlily,  "  I  mean  —  no  one  would 
dig  here." 

The  girl  laughed  and  showed  a  set  of  very  white  teeth 
in  her  square  jaw.  Cass  averted  his  face. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  every  miner  does  n't  know 
that  it 's  lucky  to  dig  wherever  human  blood  has  been 
spilt  ? " 

Cass  felt  a  return  of  his  superstition,  but  he  did  not 
look  up.  "  I  never  heard  it  before,"  he  said,  severely. 

"  And  you  call  yourself  a  California  miner  ?  " 

" I  do." 

It  was  impossible  for  Miss  Porter  to  misunderstand 
his  curt  speech  and  unsocial  manner.  She  stared  at  him 
and  colored  slightly.  Lifting  her  reins  lightly,  she  said  : 
"  You  certainly  do  not  seem  like  most  of  the  miners  I 
have  met." 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  67 

"  Nor  you  like  any  girl  from  the  East  I  ever  met,"  he 
responded. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  she  asked,  checking  her  horse. 

"  What  I  say,"  he  answered,  doggedly.  Reasonable  as 
this  reply  was,  it  immediately  struck  him  that  it  was 
scarcely  dignified  or  manly.  But  before  he  could  explain 
himself  Miss  Porter  was  gone. 

He  met  her  again  that  very  evening.  The  trial  had 
been  summarily  suspended  by  the  appearance  of  the 
Sheriff  of  Calaveras  and  his  posse,  who  took  Joe  from 
that  self-constituted  tribunal  of  Blazing  Star  and  set  his 
face  southward  and  toward  authoritative  although  more 
cautious  justice.  But  not  before  the  evidence  of  the 
previous  inquest  had  been  read,  and  the  incident  of  the 
ring  again  delivered  to  the  public.  It  is  said  the  prisoner 
burst  into  an  incredulous  laugh  and  asked  to  see  this 
mysterious  waif.  It  was  handed  to  him.  Standing  in 
the  very  shadow  of  the  gallows  tree  —  which  might  have 
been  one  of  the  pines  that  sheltered  the  billiard  room  in 
which  the  Vigilance  Committee  held  their  conclave  —  the 
prisoner  gave  way  to  a  burst  of  merriment,  so  genuine 
and  honest  that  the  judge  and  jury  joined  in  automatic 
sympathy.  When  silence  was  restored  an  explanation 
was  asked  by  the  Judge.  But  there  was  no  response 
from  the  prisoner  except  a  subdued  chuckle. 

"  Did  this  ring  belong  to  you  ? "  asked  the  Judge,  se 
verely,  the  jury  and  spectators  craning  their  ears  forward 
with  an  expectant  smile  already  on  their  faces.  But  the 
prisoner's  eyes  only  sparkled  maliciously  as  he  looked 
around  the  court. 

"Tell  us,  Joe,"  said  a  sympathetic  and  laughter-loving 
juror,  under  his  breath.  "  Let  it  out  and  we  '11  make  it 
easy  for  you." 

"  Prisoner,"  said  the  Judge,  with  a  return  of  official 
dignity,  "remember  that  your  life  is  in  peril.  Do  you 
refuse  ? " 


68  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

Joe  lazily  laid  his  arm  on  the  back  of  his  chair  with 
(to  quote  the  words  of  an  animated  observer)  "  the  air  of 
having  a  Christian  hope  and  a  sequence  flush  in  his 
hand,"  and  said  :  "  Well,  as  I  reckon  I  'm  not  up  yer  for 
stealin'  a  ring  that  another  man  lets  on  to  have  found, 
and  as  fur  as  I  kin  see,  hez  nothin'  to  do  with  the  case, 
I  do  !  "  And  as  it  was  here  that  the  Sheriff  of  Calaveras 
made  a  precipitate  entry  into  the  room,  the  mystery  re 
mained  unsolved. 

The  effect  of  this  freshly-important  ridicule  on  the 
sensitive  mind  of  Cass  might  have  been  foretold  by  Blaz 
ing  Star  had  it  ever  taken  that  sensitiveness  into  consid 
eration.  He  had  lost  the  good-humor  and  easy  pliability 
which  had  tempted  him  to  frankness,  and  he  had  gradu 
ally  become  bitter  and  hard.  He  had  at  first  affected 
amusement  over  his  own  vanished  day  dream  —  hiding 
his  virgin  disappointment  in  his  own  breast ;  but  when 
he  began  to  turn  upon  his  feelings  he  turned  upon  his 
comrades  also.  Cass  was  for  a  while  unpopular.  There 
is  no  ingratitude  so  revolting  to  the  human  mind  as  that 
of  the  butt  who  refuses  to  be  one  any  longer.  The  man 
who  rejects  that  immunity  which  laughter  generally  casts 
upon  him  and  demands  to  be  seriously  considered  de 
serves  no  mercy. 

It  was  under  these  hard  conditions  that  Cass  Beard, 
convicted  of  overt  sentimentalism,  aggravated  by  incon 
sistency,  stepped  into  the  Red  Chief  coach  that  evening. 
It  was  his  habit  usually  to  ride  with  the  driver,  but  the 
presence  of  Hornsby  and  Miss  Porter  on  the  box  seat 
changed  his  intention.  Yet  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  that  neither  had  noticed  him,  and  as  there  was 
no  other  passenger  inside,  he  stretched  himself  on  the 
cushion  of  the  back  seat  and  gave  way  to  moody  reflec 
tions.  He  quite  determined  to  leave  Blazing  Star,  to 
settle  himself  seriously  to  the  task  of  money-getting,  and 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  69 

to  return  to  his  comrades,  some  day,  a  sarcastic,  cynical, 
successful  man,  and  so  overwhelm  them  with  confusion. 
For  poor  Cass  had  not  yet  reached  that  superiority  of 
knowing  that  success  would  depend  upon  his  ability  to 
forego  his  past.  Indeed,  part  of  his  boyhood  had  been 
cast  among  these  men,  and  he  was  not  old  enough  to 
have  learned  that  success  was  not  to  be  gauged  by  their 
standard.  The  moon  lit  up  the  dark  interior  of  the 
coach  with  a  faint  poetic  light.  The  lazy  swinging  of 
the  vehicle  that  was  bearing  him  away  —  albeit  only  for 
a  night  and  a  day  —  the  solitude,  the  glimpses  from  the 
window  of  great  distances  full  of  vague  possibilities,  made 
the  abused  ring  potent  as  that  of  Gyges.  He  dreamed 
with  his  eyes  open.  From  an  Alnaschar  vision  he  sud 
denly  awoke.  The  coach  had  stopped.  The  voices  of 
men,  one  in  entreaty,  one  in  expostulation,  came  from 
the  box.  Cass  mechanically  put  his  hand  to  his  pistol 
pocket. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  insist  upon  getting  down." 

It  was  Miss  Porter's  voice.  This  was  followed  by  a 
rapid,  half  restrained  interchange  of  words  between 
Hornsby  and  the  driver.  Then  the  latter  said  gruffly  : 

"  If  the  lady  wants  to  ride  inside,  let  her." 

Miss  Porter  fluttered  to  the  ground.  She  was  followed 
by  Hornsby.  "Just  a  minit,  Miss,"  he  expostulated, 
half  shamedly,  half  brusquely,  "  ye  don't  onderstand  me. 
I  only"  — 

But  Miss  Porter  had  jumped  into  the  coach. 

Hornsby  placed  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  the  door. 
Miss  Porter  grasped  it  firmly  from  the  inside.  There 
was  a  slight  struggle. 

All  of  which  was  part  of  a  dream  to  the  boyish  Cass. 
But  he  awoke  from  it  —  a  man!  "Do  you,"  he  asked, 
in  a  voice  he  scarcely  recognized  himself,  —  "  do  you 
want  this  man  inside  ?  " 


70  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

"  No ! " 

Cass  caught  at  Hornsby's  wrist  like  a  young  tiger. 
But  alas !  what  availed  instinctive  chivalry  against  main 
strength  ?  He  only  succeeded  in  forcing  the  door  open 
in  spite  of  Miss  Porter's  superior  strategy,  and — I  fear 
I  must  add,  muscle  also — and  threw  himself  passion 
ately  at  Hornsby's  throat,  where  he  hung  on  and  calmly 
awaited  dissolution.  But  he  had,  in  the  onset,  driven 
Hornsby  out  into  the  road  and  the  moonlight. 

"  Here !  somebody  take  my  lines."  The  voice  was 
"  Mountain  Charley's,"  the  driver.  The  figure  that 
jumped  from  the  box  and  separated  the  struggling  men 
belonged  to  this  singularly  direct  person. 

"  You  're  riding  inside  ?  "  said  Charley,  interrogatively, 
to  Cass.  Before  he  could  reply  Miss  Porter's  voice  came 
from  the  window  : 

"  He  is  !  " 

Charley  promptly  bundled  Cass  into  the  coach. 

"  And  you  ?  "  to  Hornsby,  "  onless  you  're  kalkilatin' 
to  take  a  little  '  pasear  '  you  're  booked  outside.  Get  up." 

It  is  probable  that  Charley  assisted  Mr.  Hornsby  as 
promptly  to  his  seat,  for  the  next  moment  the  coach  was 
rolling  on. 

Meanwhile  Cass,  by  reason  of  his  forced  entry,  had 
been  deposited  in  Miss  Porter's  lap,  whence,  freeing  him 
self,  he  had  attempted  to  climb  over  the  middle  seat,  but 
in  the  starting  of  the  coach  was  again  thrown  heavily 
against  her  hat  and  shoulder ;  all  of  which  was  inconsist 
ent  with  the  attitude  of  dignified  reserve  he  had  intended 
to  display.  Miss  Porter,  meanwhile,  recovered  her  good- 
humor. 

"  What  a  brute  he  was,  ugh  !  "  she  said,  re-tying  the 
ribbons  of  her  bonnet  under  her  square  chin,  and  smooth 
ing  out  her  linen  duster. 

Cass  tried  to  look  as  if  he  had  forgotten  the  whole 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  71 

affair.  "  Who  ?  Oh,  yes  !  I  see  !  "  he  responded,  ab 
sently. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you,"  she  went  on  with  a 
smile,  "  but  you  know,  really,  I  could  have  kept  him  out 
if  you  had  n't  pulled  his  wrist  from  outside.  I  '11  show 
you.  Look  !  Put  your  hand  on  the  handle  there  !  Now, 
I  '11  hold  the  lock  inside  firmly.  You  see,  you  can't  turn 
the  catch !  " 

She  indeed  held  the  lock  fast.  It  was  a  firm  hand,  yet 
soft  —  their  fingers  had  touched  over  the  handle  —  and 
looked  white  in  the  moonlight.  He  made  no  reply,  but 
sank  back  again  in  his  seat  with  a  singular  sensation  in 
the  fingers  that  had  touched  hers.  He  was  in  the  shadow, 
and,  without  being  seen,  could  abandon  his  reserve  and 
glance  at  her  face.  It  struck  him  that  he  had  never 
really  seen  her  before.  She  was  not  so  tall  as  she  had  ap 
peared  to  be.  Her  eyes  were  not  large,  but  her  pupils  were 
black,  moist,  velvety,  and  so  convex  as  to  seem  embossed 
on  the  white.  She  had  an  indistinctive  nose,  a  rather 
colorless  face  —  whiter  at  the  angles  of  the  mouth  and 
nose  through  the  relief  of  tiny  freckles  like  grains  of  pep 
per.  Her  mouth  was  straight,  dark,  red,  but  moist  as  her 
eyes.  She  had  drawn  herself  into  the  corner  of  the  back 
seat,  her  wrist  put  through  and  hanging  over  the  swinging 
strap,  the  easy  lines  of  her  plump  figure  swaying  from  side 
to  side  with  the  motion  of  the  coach.  Finally,  forgetful 
of  any  presence  in  the  dark  corner  opposite,  she  threw  her 
'head  a  little  farther  back,  slipped  a  trifle  lower,  and  plac 
ing  two  well-booted  feet  upon  the  middle  seat,  completed 
a  charming  and  wholesome  picture. 

Five  minutes  elapsed.  She  was  looking  straight  at  the 
moon.  Cass  Beard  felt  his  dignified  reserve  becoming 
very  much  like  awkwardness.  He  ought  to  be  coldly 
polite. 

"  I  hope  you  're  not  flustered,  Miss,  by  the  —  by  the  " 
—  he  began. 


72  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

"I?"  She  straightened  herself  up  in  the  seat,  cast  a 
curious  glance  into  the  dark  corner,  and  then,  letting  her 
self  down  again,  said  :  "  Oh  dear,  no  !  " 

Another  five  minutes  elapsed.  She  had  evidently  for 
gotten  him.  She  might,  at  least,  have  been  civil.  He 
took  refuge  again  in  his  reserve.  But  it  was  now  mixed 
with  a  certain  pique. 

Yet  how  much  softer  her  face  looked  in  the  moonlight ! 
Even  her  square  jaw  had  lost  that  hard,  matter-of-fact, 
practical  indication  which  was  so  distasteful  to  him,  and 
always  had  suggested  a  harsh  criticism  of  his  weakness. 
How  moist  her  eyes  were  —  actually  shining  in  the  light ! 
How  that  light  seemed  to  concentrate  in  the  corners  of 
the  lashes,  and  then  slipped  —  a  flash  —  away  !  Was 
she  ?  Yes,  she  was  crying. 

Cass  melted.  He  moved.  Miss  Porter  put  her  head 
out  of  the  window  and  drew  it  back  in^a  moment  dry- 
eyed. 

"One  meets  all  sorts  of  folks  traveling,"  said  Cass, 
with  what  he  wished  to  make  appear  a  cheerful  philoso 
phy. 

"  I  dare  say.  I  don't  know.  I  never  before  met  any 
one  who  was  rude  to  me.  I  have  traveled  all  over  the 
country  alone,  and  with  all  kinds  of  people  ever  since  I 
was  so  high.  I  have  always  gone  my  own  way,  without 
hindrance  or  trouble.  I  always  do.  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  n't.  Perhaps  other  people  may  n't  like  it.  I  do. 
I  like  excitement.  I  like  to  see  all  that  there  is  to  see? 
Because  I  'm  a  girl  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  go  out  without 
a  keeper,  and  why  I  cannot  do  what  any  man  can  do  that 
is  n't  wrong  ;  do  you  ?  Perhaps  you  do  —  perhaps  you 
don't.  Perhaps  you  like  a  girl  to  be  always  in  the  house 
dawdling  or  thumping  a  piano  or  reading  novels.  Perhaps 
you  think  I  'm  bold  because  I  don't  like  it,  and  won't  lie 
and  say  I  do." 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  73 

She  spoke  sharply  and  aggressively,  and  so  evidently 
in  answer  to  Cass's  unspoken  indictment  against  her,  that 
he  was  not  surprised  when  she  became  more  direct. 

"  You  know  you  were  shocked  when  I  went  to  fetch 
that  Hornsby,  the  coroner,  after  we  found  the  dead 
body." 

"  Hornsby  was  n't  shocked,"  said  Cass,  a  little  v£ 
ciously. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said,  abruptly. 

"  You  were  good  friends  enough  until "  — 

"  Until  he  insulted  me  just  now ;  is  that  it  ?  " 

" Until  he  thought,"  stammered  Cass,  "that  because 
you  were  —  you  know  —  not  so  —  so  —  so  careful  as  other 
girls,  he  could  be  a  little  freer." 

"  And  so,  because  I  preferred  to  ride  a  mile  with  him  to 
see  something  real  that  had  happened,  and  tried  to  be 
useful  instead  of  looking  in  shop-windows  in  Main  Street 
or  promenading  before  the  hotel  "  — 

"  And  being  ornamental,"  interrupted  Cass.  But  this 
feeble  and  un-Cass-like  attempt  at  playful  gallantry  met 
with  a  sudden  check. 

Miss  Porter  drew  herself  together,  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  "  Do  you  wish  me  to  walk  the  rest  of  the 
way  home  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Cass,  hurriedly,  with  a  crimson  face  and  a 
sense  of  gratuitous  rudeness. 

"  Then  stop  that  kind  of  talk,  right  there  !  " 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  "  I  wish  I  was  a  man," 
she  said, 'half  bitterly,  half  earnestly.  Cass  Beard  was 
not  old  and  cynical  enough  to  observe  that  this  devout 
aspiration  is  usually  uttered  by  those  who  have  least  rea 
son  to  deplore  their  own  femininity;  and,  but  for  the 
rebuff  he  had  just  received,  would  have  made  the  usual 
emphatic  dissent  of  our  sex,  when  the  wish  is  uttered  by 
warm  red  lips  and  tender  voices  —  a  dissent,  it  may  be 


74  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

remarked,  generally  withheld,  however,  when  the  mascu 
line  spinster  dwells  on  the  perfection  of  woman.  I  dare 
say  Miss  Porter  was  sincere,  for  a  moment  later  she  con 
tinued,  poutingly : 

"  And  yet  I  used  to  go  to  fires  in  Sacramento  when  I 
was  only  ten  years  old.  I  saw  the  theatre  burnt  down. 
Nobody  found  fault  with  me  then." 

Something  made  Cass  ask  if  her  father  and  mother  ob 
jected  to  her  boyish  tastes.  The  reply  was  characteristic 
if  not  satisfactory : 

"  Object  ?     I  'd  like  to  see  them  do  it !  " 

The  direction  of  the  road  had  changed.  The  fickle 
moon  now  abandoned  Miss  Porter  and  sought  out  Cass 
on  the  front  seat.  It  caressed  the  young  fellow's  silky 
moustache  and  long  eyelashes,  and  took  some  of  the  sun 
burn  from  his  cheek. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  your  neck  ?  "  said  the  girl, 
suddenly. 

Cass  looked  down,  blushing  to  find  that  the  collar  of 
his  smart  "  duck  "  sailor  shirt  was  torn  open.  But  some 
thing  more  than  his  white,  soft,  girlish  skin  was  exposed ; 
the  shirt  front  was  dyed  quite  red  with  blood  from  a 
slight  cut  on  the  shoulder.  He  remembered  to  have  felt 
a  scratch  while  struggling  with  Hornsby. 

The  girl's  soft  eyes  sparkled.  "  Let  me"  she  said, 
vivaciously.  "  Do  !  I  'm  good  at  wounds.  Come  over 
here.  No  —  stay  there.  I  '11  come  over  to  you." 

She  did,  bestriding  the  back  of  the  middle  seat  and 
dropping  at  his  side.  The  magnetic  fingers  again  touched 
his ;  he  felt  her  warm  breath  on  his  neck  as  she  bent 
toward  him. 

"  It 's  nothing,"  he  said,  hastily,  more  agitated  by  the 
treatment  than  the  woun.d. 

"  Give  me  your  flask,"  she  responded,  without  heeding. 
A  stinging  sensation  as  she  bathed  the  edges  of  the  cut 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  75 

with  the  spirit  brought  him  back  to  common  sense  again. 
"There,"  she  said,  skillfully  extemporizing  a  bandage 
from  her  handkerchief  and  a  compress  from  his  cravat. 
"  Now,  button  your  coat  over  your  chest,  so,  and  don't 
take  cold."  She  insisted  upon  buttoning  it  for  him; 
greater  even  than  the  feminine  delight  in  a  man's  strength 
is  the  ministration  to  his  weakness.  Yet,  when  this  was 
finished,  she  drew  a  little  away  from  him  in  some  embar 
rassment  —  an  embarrassment  she  wondered  at,  as  his 
skin  was  finer,  his  touch  gentler,  his  clothes  cleaner,  and 
—  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it  —  he  exhaled  an  at 
mosphere  much  sweeter  than  belonged  to  most  of  the  men 
her  boyish  habits  had  brought  her  in  contact  with  —  not 
excepting  her  own  father.  Later  she  even  exempted  her 
mother  from  the  possession  of  this  divine  effluence.  After 
a  moment  she  asked,  suddenly,  "  What  are  you  going  to 
do  with  Hornsby  ?  " 

Cass  had  not  thought  of  him.  His  short-lived  rage  was 
past  with  the  occasion  that  provoked  it.  Without  any 
fear  of  his  adversary,  he  would  have  been  content  quite 
willing  to  meet  him  no  more.  He  only  said,  "  That  will 
depend  upon  him." 

"Oh,  you  won't  hear  from  him  again,"  said  she,  con 
fidently;  "but  you  really  ought  to  get  up  a  little  more 
muscle.  You  've  no  more  than  a  girl."  She  stopped,  a 
little  confused. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  your  handkerchief  ? "  asked  the 
uneasy  Cass,  anxious  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Oh,  keep  it,  if  you  want  to ;  only  don't  show  it  to 
everybody  as  you  did  that  ring  you  found."  Seeing  signs 
of  distress  in  his  face,  she  added :  "  Of  course  tha!  was 
all  nonsense.  If  you  had  cared  so  much  for  the  ring  you 
could  n't  have  talked  about  it,  or  shown  it ;  could  you  ? " 

It  relieved  him  to  think  that  this  might  be  true  ;  he  cer 
tainly  had  not  looked  at  it  in  that  light  before. 


76  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

"  But  did  you  really  find  it  ? "  she  asked,  with  sudden 
gravity.  "Really,  now?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  there  was  no  real  May  in  the  case  ? " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  laughed  Cass,  secretly  pleased. 

But  Miss  Porter,  after  eying  him  critically  for  a  mo 
ment,  jumped  up  and  climbed  back  again  to  her  seat. 
"Perhaps  you  had  better  give  me  that  handkerchief 
back." 

Cass  began  to  unbutton  his  coat. 

"  No  !  no  !  Do  you  want  to  take  your  death  of  cold  ?  " 
she  screamed.  And  Cass,  to  avoid  this  direful  possibil 
ity,  rebuttoned  his  coat  again  over  the  handkerchief  and 
a  peculiarly  pleasing  sensation. 

Very  little  now  was  said  until  the  rattling,  bounding 
descent  of  the  coach  denoted  the  approach  to  Red  Chief. 
The  straggling  main  street  disclosed  itself,  light  by  light. 
In  the  flash  of  glittering  windows  and  the  sound  of  eager 
voices  Miss  Porter  descended,  without  waiting  for  Cass's 
proffered  assistance,  and  anticipated  Mountain  Charley's 
descent  from  the  box.  A  few  undistinguishable  words 
passed  between  them. 

"  You  kin  freeze  to  me,  Miss,"  said  Charley  \  and  Miss 
Porter,  turning  her  frank  laugh  and  frankly  opened  palm 
to  Cass,  half  returned  the  pressure  of  his  hand  and 
slipped  away. 

A  few  days  after  the  stage-coach  incident  Mountain 
Charley  drew  up  beside  Cass  on  the  Blazing  Star  turn 
pike,  and  handed  him  a  small  packet.  "I  was  told  to 
give  ye  that  by  Miss  Porter.  Hush  —  listen  !  It 's  that 
rather  old  dog-goned  ring  o'  yours  that 's  bin  in  all  the 
papers.  She  's  bamboozled  that  sap-headed  county  judge, 
Boompointer,  into  givin'  it  to  her.  Take  my  advice  and 
sling  it  away  for  some  other  feller  to  pick  up  and  get 
looney  over.  That 's  all !  " 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  77 

"  Did  she  say  anything  ?  "  asked  Cass,  anxiously,  as  he 
received  his  lost  treasure  somewhat  coldly. 

"  Well,  yes  !  I  reckon.  She  asked  me  to  stand  betwixt 
Hornsby  and  you.  So  don't  you  tackle  him,  and  I  '11  see 
he  don't  tackle  you,"  and  with  a  portentous  wink  Moun 
tain  Charley  whipped  up  his  horses  and  was  gone. 

Cass  opened  the  packet.  It  contained  nothing  but  the 
ring.  Unmitigated  by  any  word  of  greeting,  remem 
brance,  or  even  raillery,  it  seemed  almost  an  insult.  Had 
she  intended  to  flaunt  his  folly  in  his  face,  or  had  she 
believed  he  still  mourned  for  it  and  deemed  its  recovery  a 
sufficient  reward  for  his  slight  service  ?  For  an  instant  he 
felt  tempted  to  follow  Charley's  advice,  and  cast  this 
symbol  of  folly  and  contempt  in  the  dust  of  the  mountain 
road.  And  had  she  not  made  his  humiliation  complete 
by  begging  Charley's  interference  between  him  and  his 
enemy?  He  would  go  home  and  send  her  back  the 
handkerchief  she  had  given  him.  But  here  the  unro- 
mantic  reflection  that  although  he  had  washed  it  that  very 
afternoon  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  cabin,  he  could  not 
possibly  iron  it,  but  must  send  it  "  rough  dried,"  stayed 
his  indignant  feet. 

Two  or  three  days,  a  week,  a  fortnight  even,  of  this 
hopeless  resentment  filled  Cass's  breast.  Then  the  news 
of  Kanaka  Joe's  acquittal  in  the  state  court  momentarily 
revived  the  story  of  the  ring,  and  revamped  a  few  stale 
jokes  in  the  camp.  But  the  interest  soon  flagged ;  the 
fortunes  of  the  little  community  of  Blazing  Star  had  been 
for  some  months  failing;  and  with  early  snows  in  the 
mountain  and  wasted  capital  in  fruitless  schemes  on  the 
river,  there  was  little  room  for  the  indulgence  of  that  lazy 
and  original  humor  which  belonged  to  their  lost  youth 
and  prosperity.  Blazing  Star  truly,  in  the  grim  figure  of 
their  slang,  was  "  played  out."  Not  dug  out,  worked  out, 
or  washed  out,  but  dissipated  in  a  year  of  speculation  and 
chance. 


78  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

Against  this  tide  of  fortune  Cass  struggled  manfully,  and 
even  evoked  the  slow  praise  of  his  companions.  Better 
still,  he  won  a  certain  praise  for  himself,  in  himself,  in  a 
consciousness  of  increased  strength,  health,  power,  and 
self-reliance.  He  began  to  turn  his  quick  imagination 
and  perception  to  some  practical  account,  and  made  one  or 
two  discoveries  which  quite  startled  his  more  experienced, 
but  more  conservative  companions.  Nevertheless,  Cass's 
discoveries  and  labors  were  not  of  a  kind  that  produced 
immediate  pecuniary  realization,  and  Blazing  Star,  which 
consumed  so  many  pounds  of  pork  and  flour  daily,  did 
not  unfortunately  produce  the  daily  equivalent  in  gold. 
Blazing  Star  lost  its  credit.  Blazing  Star  was  hungry, 
dirty,  and  ragged.  Blazing  Star  was  beginning  to  set. 

Participating  in  the  general  ill-luck  of  the  camp,  Cass 
was  not  without  his  own  individual  mischance.  He  had 
resolutely  determined  to  forget  Miss  Porter  and  all  that 
tended  to  recall  the  unlucky  ring,  but,  cruelly  enough,  she 
was  the  only  thing  that  refused  to  be  forgotten  —  whose 
undulating  figure  reclined  opposite  to  him  in  the  weird 
moonlight  of  his  ruined  cabin,  whose  voice  mingled  with 
the  song  of  the  river  by  whose  banks  he  toiled,  and  whose 
eyes  and  touch  thrilled  him  in  his  dreams.  Partly  for  this 
reason,  and  partly  because  his  clothes  were  beginning  to 
be  patched  and  torn,  he  avoided  Red  Chief  and  any  place 
where  he  would  be  likely  to  meet  her.  In  spite  of  this 
precaution  he  had  once  seen  her  driving  in  a  pony  car 
riage,  but  so  smartly  and  fashionably  dressed  that  he  drew 
back  in  the  cover  of  a  wayside  willow  that  she  might  pass 
without  recognition.  He  looked  down  upon  his  red- 
splashed  clothes  and  grimy,  soil-streaked  hands,  and  for 
a  moment  half  hated  her.  His  comrades  seldom  spoke 
of  her  —  instinctively  fearing  some  temptation  that  might 
beset  his  Spartan  resolutions,  but  he  heard  from  time  to 
time  that  she  had  been  seen  at  balls  and  parties,  ap- 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  79 

parently  enjoying  those  very  frivolities  of  her  sex  she 
affected  to  condemn.  It  was  a  Sabbath  morning  in 
early  spring  that  he  was  returning  from  an  ineffectual  at 
tempt  to  enlist  a  capitalist  at  the  county  town  to  redeem 
the  fortunes  of  Blazing  Star.  He  was  pondering  over  the 
narrowness  of  that  capitalist,  who  had  evidently  but  il- 
logically  connected  Cass's  present  appearance  with  the 
future  of  that  struggling  camp,  when  he  became  so  foot 
sore  that  he  was  obliged  to  accept  a  "  lift "  from  a  way 
faring  teamster.  As  the  slowly  lumbering  vehicle  passed 
.the  new  church  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  the  congrega 
tion  were  sallying  forth.  It  was  too  late  to  jump  down 
and  run  away,  and  Cass  dared  not  ask  his  new-found  friend 
to  whip  up  his  cattle.  Conscious  of  his  unshorn  beard  and 
ragged  garments,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  road. 
A  voice  that  thrilled  him  called  his  name.  It  was  Miss 
Porter,  a  resplendent  vision  of  silk,  laces,  and  Easter  flow 
ers  —  yet  actually  running,  with  something  of  her  old 
dash  and  freedom,  beside  the  wagon.  As  the  astonished 
teamster  drew  up  before  this  elegant  apparition,  she 
panted  : 

"  Why  did  you  make  me  run  so  far,  and  why  did  n't  you 
lookup?" 

Cass,  trying  to  hide  the  patches  on  his  knees  beneath 
a  newspaper,  stammered  that  he  had  not  seen  her. 

"  And  you  did  not  hold  down  your  head  purposely  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Cass. 

"  Why  have  you  not  been  to  Red  Chief  ?  Why  did  n't 
you  answer  my  message  about  the  ring  ? "  she  asked, 
swiftly. 

"You  sent  nothing  but  the  ring,"  said  Cass,  coloring, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  teamster. 

"  Why,  that  was  a  message,  you  born  idiot." 

Cass  stared.  The  teamster  smiled.  Miss  Porter  gazed 
anxiously  at  the  wagon.  "  I  think  I  'd  like  a  ride  in 


8o  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

there  ;  it  looks  awfully  good."  She  glanced  mischiev 
ously  around  at  the  lingering  and  curious  congregation. 
"  May  I  ?  " 

But  Cass  deprecated  that  proceeding  strongly.  It  was 
dirty ;  he  was  not  sure  it  was  even  wholesome ;  she  would 
be  so  uncomfortable  ;  he  himself  was  only  going  a  few 
rods  farther,  and  in  that  time  she  might  ruin  her  dress  — 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  a  little  bitterly,  "certainly,  my 
dress  must  be  looked  after.  And  —  what  else  ?  " 

"  People  might  think  it  strange,  and  believe  I  had  in 
vited  you,"  continued  Cass,  hesitatingly. 

"  When  I  had  only  invited  myself  ?  Thank  you.  Good- 
by." 

She  waved  her  hand  and  stepped  back  from  the  wagon. 
Cass  would  have  given  worlds  to  recall  her,  but  he  sat 
still,  and  the  vehicle  moved  on  in  moody  silence.  At 
the  first  cross  road  he  jumped  down.  "Thank  you,"  he 
said  to  the  teamster.  "  You  're  welcome,"  returned  that 
gentleman,  regarding  him  curiously,  "  but  the  next  time 
a  gal  like  that  asks  to  ride  in  this  yer  wagon,  I  reckon  I 
won't  take  the  vote  of  any  deadhead  passenger.  Adios, 
young  fellow.  Don't  stay  out  late ;  ye  might  be  run  off 
by  some  gal,  and  what  would  your  mother  say  ? "  Of 
course  the  young  man  could  only  look  unutterable  things 
and  walk  away,  but  even  in  that  dignified  action  he  was 
conscious  that  its  effect  was  somewhat  mitigated  by  a 
large  patch  from  a  material  originally  used  as  a  flour- 
sack,  which  had  repaired  his  trousers,  but  still  bore  the 
ironical  legend,  "  Best  Superfine." 

The  summer  brought  warmth  and  promise  and  some 
blossom,  if  not  absolute  fruition  to  Blazing  Star.  The 
long  days  drew  Nature  into  closer  communion  with  the 
men,  and  hopefulness  followed  the  discontent  of  their 
winter  seclusion.  It  was  easier,  too,  for  Capital  to  be 
wooed  and  won  into  making  a  picnic  in  these  mountain 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  81 

solitudes  than  when  high  water  stayed  the  fords  and  drift 
ing  snow  the  Sierran  trails.  At  the  close  of  one  of  these 
Arcadian  days  Cass  was  smoking  before  the  door  of  his 
lonely  cabin  when  he  was  astounded  by  the  onset  of  a 
dozen  of  his  companions.  Peter  Drummond,  far  in  the 
van,  was  waving  a  newspaper  like  a  victorious  banner. 
"  All 's  right  now,  Cass,  old  man  !  "  he  panted  as  he 
stopped  before  Cass  and  shoved  back  his  eager  followers. 

"  What 's  all  right  ? "  asked  Cass,  dubiously. 

"  You !  You  kin  rake  down  the  pile  now.  You  're 
hunky !  You  're  on  velvet.  Listen  !  " 

He  opened  the  newspaper  and  read,  with  annoying 
deliberation,  as  follows  :  — 

"  LOST.  —  If  the  finder  of  a  plain  gold  ring,  bearing 
the  engraved  inscription,  *  May  to  Cass,'  alleged  to  have 
been  picked  up  on  the  high  road  near  Blazing  Star  on 
the  4th  March,  186-,  will  apply  to  Bookham  &  Sons, 
bankers,  1007  Y.  Street,  Sacramento,  he  will  be  suitably 
rewarded  either  for  the  recovery  of  the  ring,  or  for  such 
facts  as  may  identify  it,  or  the  locality  where  it  was 
found." 

Cass  rose  and  frowned  savagely  on  his  comrades. 
"  No  !  no  !  "  cried  a  dozen  voices  assuringly.  "  It 's  all 
right !  Honest  Injun  !  True  as  gospel  !  No  joke, 
Cass  ! " 

"  Here's  the  paper,  Sacramento  '  Union'  of  yesterday. 
Look  for  yourself,"  said  Drummond,  handing  him  the 
well-worn  journal.  "  And  you  see,"  he  added,  "  how 
darned  lucky  you  are.  It  ain't  necessary  for  you  to  pro 
duce  the  ring,  so  if  that  old  biled  owl  of  a  Boompointer 
don't  giv'  it  back  to  ye,  it 's  all  the  same." 

"  And  they  say  nobody  but  the  finder  need  apply,"  in 
terrupted  another.  "  That  shuts  out  Boompointer  or 
Kanaka  Joe  for  the  matter  o'  that." 

"  It 's  clar  that  it  means  you,  Cass,  ez  much  ez  if  they  'd 
given  your  name,"  added  a  third. 


82  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

For  Miss  Porter's  sake  and  his  own  Cass  had  never 
told  them  of  the  restoration  of  the  ring,  and  it  was  evi 
dent  that  Mountain  Charley  had  also  kept  silent.  Cass 
could  not  speak  now  without  violating  a  secret,  and  he 
was  pleased  that  the  ring  itself  no  longer  played  an 
important  part  in  the  mystery.  But  what  was  that  mys 
tery,  and  why  was  the  ring  secondary  to  himself  ?  Why 
was  so  much  stress  laid  upon  his  finding  it  ? 

"  You  see,"  said  Drummond,  as  if  answering  his  un 
spoken  thought,  "  that  'ar  gal  —  for  it  is  a  gal  in  course  — 
hez  read  all  about  it  in  the  papers,  and  hez  sort  o'  took  a 
shine  to  ye.  It  don't  make  a  bit  o'  difference  who  in 
thunder  Cass  is  or  waz,  for  I  reckon  she  's  kicked  him 
over  by  this  time  "  — 

"  Sarved  him  right,  too,  for  losing  the  girl's  ring  and 
then  lying  low  and  keeping  dark  about  it,"  interrupted  a 
sympathizer. 

"  And  she  's  just  weakened  over  the  romantic,  high- 
toned  way  you  stuck  to  it,"  continued  Drummond,  for 
getting  the  sarcasms  he  had  previously  hurled  at  this 
romance.  Indeed  the  whole  camp,  by  this  time,  had  be 
come  convinced  that  it  had  fostered  and  developed  a 
chivalrous  devotion  which  was  now  on  the  point  of  pe 
cuniary  realization.  It  was  generally  accepted  that  "  she  " 
was  the  daughter  of  this  banker,  and  also  felt  that  in  the 
circumstances  the  happy  father  could  not  do  less  than 
develop  the  resources  of  Blazing  Star  at  once.  Even 
if  there  were  no  relationship,  what  opportunity  could  be 
more  fit  for  presenting  to  capital  a  locality  that  even  pro 
duced  engagement  rings,  and,  as  Jim  Fauquier  put  it, 
"  the  men  ez  knew  how  to  keep  'em."  It  was  this  sym 
pathetic  Virginian  who  took  Cass  aside  with  the  following 
generous  suggestion  :  "  If  you  find  that  you  and  the  old 
gal  couldn't  hitch  hosses,  owin'  to  your  not  likin'  red 
hair  or  a  game  leg  "  (it  may  be  here  recorded  that  Blaz- 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  83 

ing  Star  had,  for  no  reason  whatever,  attributed  these 
unprepossessing  qualities  to  the  mysterious  advertiser), 
"you  might  let  me  in.  You  might  say  ez  how  I  used  to 
jest  worship  that  ring  with  you,  and  allers  wanted  to 
borrow  it  on  Sundays.  If  anything  comes  of  it  —  why  — 
iv  e  're  pardners  !" 

A  serious  question  was  the  outfitting  of  Cass  for  what 
now  was  felt  to  be  a  diplomatic  representation  of  the 
community.  His  garments,  it  hardly  need  be  said,  were 
inappropriate  to  any  wooing  except  that  of  the  "  maiden 
all  forlorn,"  which  the  advertiser  clearly  was  not.  "  He 
might,"  suggested  Fauquier,  "drop  in  jest  as  he  is  — 
kinder  as  if  he  'd  got  keerless  of  the  world,  being  love 
sick."  But  Cass  objected  strongly,  and  was  borne  out  in 
his  objection  by  his  younger  comrades.  At  last  a  pair  of 
white  duck  trousers,  a  red  shirt,  a  flowing  black  silk 
scarf,  and  a  Panama  hat  were  procured  af  Red  Chief,  on 
credit,  after  a  judicious  exhibition  of  the  advertisement. 
A  heavy  wedding-ring,  the  property  of  Drummond  (who 
was  not  married),  was  also  lent  as  a  graceful  suggestion, 
and  at  the  last  moment  Fauquier  affixed  to  Cass's  scarf 
an  enormous  specimen  pin  of  gold  and  quartz.  "  It 
sorter  indicates  the  auriferous  wealth  o'  this  yer  region, 
and  the  old  man  (the  senior  member  of  Bookham  &  Sons) 
need  n't  know  I  won  it  at  draw-poker  in  Frisco,"  said 
Fauqier.  "  Ef  you  '  pass '  on  the  gal,  you  kin  hand  it 
back  to  me  and  777  try  it  on." 

Forty  dollars  for  expenses  was  put  into  Cass's  hands, 
and  the  entire  community  accompanied  him  to  the  cross 
roads  where  he  was  to  meet  the  Sacramento  coach,  which 
eventually  carried  him  away,  followed  by  a  benediction 
of  waving  hats  and  exploding  revolvers. 

That  Cass  did  not  participate  in  the  extravagant  hopes 
of  his  comrades,  and  that  he  rejected  utterly  their  matri 
monial  speculations  in  his  behalf,  need  not  be  said. 


84  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

Outwardly,  he  kept  his  own  counsel  with  good-humored 
assent.  But  there  was  something  fascinating  in  the  situa 
tion,  and  while  he  felt  he  had  forever  abandoned  his  ro 
mantic  dream,  he  was  not  displeased  to  know  that  it 
might  have  proved  a  reality.  Nor  was  it  distasteful  to 
him  to  think  that  Miss  Porter  would  hear  of  it  and  regret 
her  late  inability  to  appreciate  his  sentiment.  If  he 
really  were  the  object  of  some  opulent  maiden's  passion, 
he  would  show  Miss  Porter  how  he  could  sacrifice  the 
most  brilliant  prospects  for  her  sake.  Alone,  on  the  top 
of  the  coach,  he  projected  one  of  those  satisfying  conver 
sations  in  which  imaginative  people  delight,  but  which 
unfortunately  never  come  quite  up  to  rehearsal.  "  Dear 
Miss  Porter,"  he  would  say,  addressing  the  back  of  the 
driver,  "  if  I  could  remain  faithful  to  a  dream  of  my 
youth,  however  illusive  and  unreal,  can  you  believe  that 
for  the  sake  of  lucre  I  could  be  false  to  the  one  real  pas 
sion  that  alone  supplanted  it  ?  "  In  the  composition  and 
delivery  of  this  eloquent  statement  an  hour  was  happily 
forgotten :  the  only  drawback  to  its  complete  effect  was 
that  a  misplacing  of  epithets  in  rapid  repetition  did  not 
seem  to  make  the  slightest  difference,  and  Cass  found 
himself  saying  "  Dear  Miss  Porter,  if  I  could  be  false  to 
a  dream  of  my  youth,  etc.,  etc.,  can  you  believe  I  could 
be  faithful  to  the  one  real  passion,  etc.,  etc.,"  with  equal 
and  perfect  satisfaction.  As  Miss  Porter  was  reputed 
to  be  well  off,  if  the  unknown  were  poor,  that  might  be 
another  drawback. 

The  banking  house  of  Bookham  &  Sons  did  not  pre 
sent  an  illusive  nor  mysterious  appearance.  It  was  emi 
nently  practical  and  matter  of  fact;  it  was  obtrusively 
open  and  glassy ;  nobody  would  have  thought  of  leaving 
a  secret  there  that  would  have  been  inevitably  circulated 
over  the  counter.  Cass  felt  an  uncomfortable  sense  of 
incongruity  in  himself,  in  his  story,  in  his  treasure,  to  this 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  85 

temple  of  disenchanting  realism.  With  the  awkwardness 
of  an  embarrassed  man  he  was  holding  prominently  in  his 
hand  an  envelope  containing  the  ring  and  advertisement 
as  a  voucher  for  his  intrusion,  when  the  nearest  clerk 
took  the  envelope  from  his  hand,  opened  it,  took  out  the 
ring,  returned  it,  said  briskly,  "  T'  other  shop,  next  door, 
young  man,"  and  turned  to  another  customer. 

Cass  stepped  to  the  door,  saw  that  "  T'other  shop " 
was  a  pawnbroker's,  and  returned  again  with  a  flashing 
eye  and  heightened  color.  "  It 's  an  advertisement  I 
have  come  to  answer,"  he  began  again. 

The  clerk  cast  a  glance  at  Cass's  scarf  and  pin.  "  Place 
taken  yesterday — no  room  for  any  more,"  he  said,  ab 
ruptly. 

Cass  grew  quite  white.  But  his  old  experience  in 
Blazing  Star  repartee  stood  him  in  good  stead.  "  If  it 's 
your  place  you  mean,"  he  said  coolly,  "I  reckon  you 
might  put  a  dozen  men  in  the  hole  you  're  rattlin'  round 
in  —  but  it 's  this  advertisement  I  'm  after.  If  Bookham 
is  n't  in,  maybe  you  '11  send  me  one  of  the  grown-up 
sons."  The  production  of  the  advertisement  and  some 
laughter  from  the  bystanders  had  its  effect.  The  pert 
young  clerk  retired,  and  returned  to  lead  the  way  to  the 
bank  parlor.  Cass's  heart  sank  again  as  he  was  con 
fronted  by  a  dark,  iron-gray  man  —  in  dress,  features, 
speech,  and  action  —  uncompromisingly  opposed  to  Cass 
—  his  ring  and  his  romance.  When  the  young  man  had 
told  his  story  and  produced  his  treasure  he  paused.  The 
banker  scarcely  glanced  at  it,  but  said,  impatiently  : 

"  Well,  your  papers  ?  " 

"  My  papers  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Proof  of  your  identity.  You  say  your  name  is 
Cass  Beard.  Good !  What  have  you  got  to  prove  it  ? 
How  can  I  tell  who  you  are  ?  " 

To  a  sensitive  man  there  is  no  form  of  suspicion  that 


86  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

is  as  bewildering  and  demoralizing  at  the  moment  as  the 
question  of  his  identity.  Cass^felt  the  insult  in  the  doubt 
of  his  word,  and  the  palpable  sense  of  his  present  inabil 
ity  to  prove  it.  The  banker  watched  him  keenly  but  not 
unkindly. 

"Come,"  he  said  at  length,  "this  is  not  my  affair;  if 
you  can  legally  satisfy  the  lady  for  whom  I  am  only  agent, 
well  and  good.  I  believe  you  can  ;  I  only  warn  you  that 
you  must.  And  my  present  inquiry  was  to  keep  her  from 
losing  her  time  with  impostors,  a  class  I  don't  think  you 
belong  to.  There 's  her  card.  Good  day." 

"  Miss  MORTIMER." 

It  was  not  the  banker's  daughter.  The  first  illusion 
of  Blazing  Star  was  rudely  dispelled.  But  the  care  taken 
by  the  capitalist  to  shield  her  from  imposture  indicated 
a  person  of  wealth.  Of  her  youth  and  beauty  Cass  no 
longer  thought. 

The  address  given  was  not  distant.  With  a  beating 
heart  he  rung  the  bell  of  a  respectable-looking  house,  and 
was  ushered  into  a  private  drawing-room.  Instinctively 
he  felt  that  the  room  was  only  temporarily  inhabited ;  an 
air  peculiar  to  the  best  lodgings,  and  when  the  door 
opened  upon  a  tall  lady  in  deep  mourning,  he  was  still 
more  convinced  of  an  incongruity  between  the  occupant 
and  her  surroundings.  With  a  smile  that  vacillated  be 
tween  a  habit  of  familiarity  and  ease,  and  a  recent  re 
straint,  she  motioned  him  to  a  chair. 

"  Miss  Mortimer  "  was  still  young,  still  handsome,  still 
fashionably  dressed,  and  still  attractive.  From  her  first 
greeting  to  the  end  of  the  interview  Cass  felt  that  she 
knew  all  about  him.  This  relieved  him  from  the  onus  of 
proving  his  identity,  but  seemed  to  put  him  vaguely  at  a 
disadvantage.  It  increased  his  sense  of  inexperience 
and  youthfulness. 

"  I  hope  you  will  believe,"  she  began,  "  that  the  few 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  87 

questions  I  have  to  ask  you  are  to  satisfy  my  own  heart, 
and  for  no  other  purpose."  She  smiled  sadly  as  she 
went  on.  "  Had  it  been  otherwise,  I  should  have  insti 
tuted  a  legal  inquiry,  and  left  this  interview  to  some  one 
cooler,  calmer,  and  less  interested  than  myself.  But  I 
think,  I  know  I  can  trust  you.  Perhaps  we  women  are 
weak  and  foolish  to  talk  of  an  instinct,  and  when  you 
know  my  story  you  may  have  reason  to  believe  that  but 
little  dependence  can  be  placed  on  that;  but  I  am  not 
wrong  in  saying,  —  am  I  ?  "  (with  a  sad  smile)  "  that  you 
are  not  above  that  weakness  ? "  She  paused,  closed  her 
lips  tightly,  and  grasped  her  hands  before  her.  "  You 
say  you  found  that  ring  in  the  road  some  three  months 
before  —  the  —  the  —  you  know  what  I  mean  —  the  body 
—  was  discovered  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  thought  it  might  have  been  dropped  by  some  one 
in  passing  ?  " 

"  I  thought  so,  yes  -—  it  belonged  to  no  one  in  the 
camp." 

"  Before  your  cabin  or  on  the  highway  ?  " 

"  Before  my  cabin." 

"  You  are  sure?  "  There  was  something  so  very  sweet 
and  sad  in  her  smile  that  it  oddly  made  Cass  color. 

"  But  my  cabin  is  near  the  road,"  he  suggested. 

"  I  see  !  And  there  was  nothing  else ;  no  paper  nor 
envelope  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  you  kept  it  because  of  the  odd  resemblance  one 
of  the  names  bore  to  yours  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  For  no  other  reason  ?  " 

"  None."     Yet  Cass  felt  he  was  blushing. 

"  You  '11  forgive  my  repeating  a  question  you  have  al 
ready  answered,  but  I  am  so  anxious.  There  was  some 


88  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

attempt  to  prove  at  the  inquest  that  the  ring  had  been 
found  on  the  body  of  —  the  unfortunate  man.  But  you 
tell  me  it  was  not  so  ? " 

"  I  can  swear  it." 

"  Good  God  —  the  traitor !  "  She  took  a  hurried  step 
forward,  turned  to  the  window,  and  then  came  back  to 
Cass  with  a  voice  broken  with  emotion.  "I  have  told 
you  I  could  trust  you.  That  ring  was  mine  !  " 

She  stopped,  and  then  went  on  hurriedly.  "  Years  ago 
I  gave  it  to  a  man  who  deceived  and  wronged  me  ;  a  man 
whose  life  since  then  has  been  a  shame  and  disgrace  -to 
all  who  knew  him  ;  a  man  who,  once  a  gentleman,  sank 
so  low  as  to  become  the  associate  of  thieves  and  ruffians ; 
sank  so  low,  that  when  he  died,  by  violence  —  a  traitor 
even  to  them  —  his  own  confederates  shrunk  from  him, 
and  left  him  to  fill  a  nameless  grave.  That  man's  body 
you  found !  " 

Cass  started.     "  And  his  name  was ?  " 

"  Part  of  your  surname.     Cass  —  Henry  Cass." 

"  You  see  why  Providence  seems  to  have  brought  that 
ring  to  you,"  she  went  on.  "  But  you  ask  me  why,  know 
ing  this,  I  am  so  eager  to  know  if  the  ring  was  found  by 
you  in  the  road,  or  if  it  were  found  on  his  body.  Listen  ! 
It  is  part  of  my  mortification  that  the  story  goes  that  this 
man  once  showed  this  ring,  boasted  of  it,  staked,  and  lost 
it  at  a  gambling  table  to  one  of  his  vile  comrades." 

"  Kanaka  Joe,"  said  Cass,  overcome  by  a  vivid  recol 
lection  of  Joe's  merriment  at  the  trial. 

"The  same.  Don't  you  see,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "  if 
the  ring  had  been  found  on  him  I  could  believe  that  some 
where  in  his  heart  he  still  kept  respect  for  the  woman  he 
had  wronged.  I  am  a  woman  —  a  foolish  woman,  I  know 
—  but  you  have  crushed  that  hope  forever." 

"  But  why  have  you  sent  for  me  ? "  asked  Cass,  touched 
by  her  emotion. 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  89 

"  To  know  it  for  certain,"  she  said,  almost  fiercely. 
"Can  you  not  understand  that  a  woman  like  me  must 
know  a  thing  once  and  forever  ?  But  you  can  help  me. 
I  did  not  send  for  you  only  to  pour  my  wrongs  in  your 
ears.  You  must  take  me  with  you  to  this  place  —  to  the 
spot  where  you  found  the  ring  —  to  the  spot  where  you 
found  the  body  —  to  the  spot  where  —  where  he  lies. 
You  must  do  it  secretly,  that  none  shall  know  me." 

Cass  hesitated.  He  was  thinking  of  his  companions 
and  the  collapse  of  their  painted  bubble.  How  could  he 
keep  the  secret  from  them  ? 

"  If  it  is  money,  you  need,  let  not  that  stop  you.  I  have 
no  right  to  your  time  without  recompense.  Do  not  mis 
understand  me.  There  has  been  a  thousand  dollars 
awaiting  my  order  at  Bookham's  when  the  ring  should  be 
delivered.  It  shall  be  doubled  if  you  help  me  in  this  -last 
moment." 

It  was  possible.  He  could  convey  her  safely  there,  in 
vent  some  story  of  a  reward  delayed  for  want  of  proofs, 
and  afterward  share  that  reward  with  his  friends.  He 
answered  promptly,  "  I  will  take  you  there." 

She  took  his  hands  in  both  of  hers,  raised  them  to  her 
lips,  and  smiled.  The  shadow  of  grief  and  restraint 
seemed  to  have  fallen  from  her  face,  and  a  half  mischiev 
ous,  half  coquettish  gleam  in  her  dark  eyes  touched  the  sus 
ceptible  Cass  in  so  subtle  a  fashion  that  he  regained  the 
street  in  some  confusion.  He  wondered  what  Miss  Porter 
would  have  thought.  But  was  he  not  returning  to  her,  a 
fortunate  man,  with  one  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket ! 
Why  should  he  remember  he  was  handicapped  by  a 
pretty  woman  and  a  pathetic  episode  ?  It  did  not  make 
the  proximity  less  pleasant  as  he  helped  her  into  the 
coach  that  evening,  nor  did  the  recollection  of  another 
ride  with  another  woman  obtrude  itself  upon  those  conso 
lations  which  he  felt  it  his  duty,  from  time  to  time,  to 


go  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

offer.  It  was  arranged  that  he  should  leave  her  at  the 
"  Red  Chief  "  Hotel,  while  he  continued  on  to  Blazing 
Star,  returning  at  noon  to  bring  her  with  him  when  he 
could  do  it  without  exposing  her  to  recognition.  The  gray 
dawn  came  soon  enough,  and  the  coach  drew  up  at  "  Red 
Chief  "  while  the  lights  in  the  bar-room  and  dining-room 
of  the  hotel  were  still  struggling  with  the  far  flushing  east. 
Cass  alighted,  placed  Miss  Mortimer  in  the  hands  of  the 
landlady,  and  returned  to  the  vehicle.  It  was  still  musty, 
close,  and  frowzy,  with  half  awakened  passengers.  There 
was  a  vacated  seat  on  the  top,  which  Cass  climbed  up  to, 
and  abstractedly  threw  himself  beside  a  figure  muffled  in 
shawls  and  rugs.  There  was  a  slight  movement  among 
the  multitudinous  enwrappings,  and  then  the  figure  turned 
to  him  and  said  dryly,  "  Good  morning  ! "  It  was  Miss 
Porter  ! 

"  Have  you  been  long  here  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  All  night." 

He  would  have  given  worlds  to  leave  her  at  that  mo 
ment.  He  would  have  jumped  from  the  starting  coach 
to  save  himself  any  explanation  of  the  embarrassment  he 
was  furiously  conscious  of  showing,  without,  as  he  be 
lieved,  any  adequate  cause.  And  yet,  like  all  inexperi 
enced,  sensitive  men,  he  dashed  blindly  into  that  expla 
nation  ;  worse,  he  even  told  his  secret  at  once,  then  and 
there,  and  then  sat  abashed  and  conscience-stricken,  with 
an  added  sense  of  its  utter  futility. 

"  And  this,"  summed  up  the  young  girl,  with  a  slight 
shrug  of  her  pretty  shoulders,  "  is  your  May  ?  " 

Cass  would  have  recommenced  his  story. 

"  No,  don't,  pray !  It  is  n't  interesting,  nor  original. 
Do  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Cass,  indignantly. 

"  How  lucky  !     Then  let  me  go  to  sleep." 

Cass,  still  furious,  but  uneasy,  did  not  again  address 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  91 

her.  When  the  coach  stopped  at  Blazing  Star  she  asked 
him,  indifferently  :  "  When  does  this  sentimental  pilgrim 
age  begin  ? " 

"  I  return  for  her  at  one  o'clock,"  replied  Cass,  stiffly. 

He  kept  his  word.  He  appeased  his  eager  compan 
ions  with  a  promise  of  future  fortune,  and  exhibited  the 
present  and  tangible  reward.  By  a  circuitous  route  known 
only  to  himself,  he  led  Miss  Mortimer  to  the  road  be 
fore  the  cabin.  There  was  a  pink  flush  of  excitement  on 
her  somewhat  faded  cheek. 

"  And  it  was  here  ?  "  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  I  found  it  here." 

"  And  the  body  ?  " 

"  That  was  afterward.  Over  in  that  direction,  beyond 
the  clump  of  buckeyes,  on  the  Red  Chief  turnpike." 

"  And  any  one  coming  from  the  road  we  left  just  now 
and  going  to  —  to  —  that  place,  would  have  to  cross  just 
here  ?  Tell  me,"  she  said,  with  a  strange  laugh,  laying 
her  cold  nervous  hand  on  his,  "  would  n't  they  ?  " 

"  They  would." 

"  Let  us  go  to  that  place." 

Cass  stepped  out  briskly  to  avoid  observation  and  gain 
the  woods  beyond  the  highway.  "  You  have  crossed  here 
before,"  she  said.  "  There  seems  to  be  a  trail." 

"I  may  have  made  it:  it's  a  shortcut  to  the  buck 
eyes." 

"You  never  found  anything  else  on  the  trail  ?" 

"  You  remember,  I  told  you  before,  the  ring  was  all  I 
found." 

"  Ah,  true  ! "  she  smiled  sweetly ;  "  it  was  that  which 
made  it  seem  so  odd  to  you.  I  forgot." 

In  half  an  hour  they  reached  the  buckeyes.  During 
the  walk  she  had  taken  rapid  recognizance  of  everything 
in  her  path.  When  they  crossed  the  road  and  Cass  had 
pointed  out  the  scene  of  the  murder,  she  looked  anxiously 
around.  "  You  are  sure  we  are  not  seen  ?  " 


92  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 

"  Quite." 

"  You  will  not  think  me  foolish  if  I  ask  you  to  wait 
here  while  I  go  in  there  "  —  she  pointed  to  the  ominous 
thicket  near  them  —  "  alone  ?  "  She  was  quite  white. 

Cass's  heart,  which  had  grown  somewhat  cold  since 
his  interview  with  Miss  Porter,  melted  at  once. 

"  Go  ;  I  will  stay  here." 

He  waited  five  minutes.  She  did  not  return.  What  if 
the  poor  creature  had  determined  upon  suicide  on  the 
spot  where  her  faithless  lover  had  fallen  ?  He  was  reas 
sured  in  another  moment  by  the  rustle  of  skirts  in  the 
undergrowth. 

"  I  was  becoming  quite  alarmed,"  he  said,  aloud. 

"You  have  reason  to  be,"  returned  a  hurried  voice. 
He  started.  It  was  Miss  Porter,  who  stepped  swiftly 
out  of  the  cover.  "  Look,"  she  said,  "  look  at  that  man 
down  the  road.  He  has  been  tracking  you  two  ever  since 
you  left  the  cabin.  Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  No  ! " 

"Then  listen.  It  is  three-fingered  Dick,  one  of  the 
escaped  road  agents.  I  know  him  !  " 

"  Let  us  go  and  warn  her,"  said  Cass,  eagerly. 

Miss  Porter  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"I  don't  think  she'll  thank  you,"  she  said,  dryly. 
"  Perhaps  you  'd  better  see  what  she  's  doing,  first." 

Utterly  bewildered,  yet  with  a  strong  sense  of  the  mas 
terfulness  of  his  companion,  he  followed  her.  She  crept 
like  a  cat  through  the  thicket.  Suddenly  she  paused. 
"  Look ! "  she  whispered,  viciously,  "  look  at  the  tender 
vigils  of  your  heart-broken  May  !  " 

Cass  saw  the  woman  who  had  left  him  a  moment  be 
fore  on  her  knees  on  the  grass,  with  long  thin  fingers 
digging  h'ke  a  ghoul-  in  the  earth.  He  had  scarce  time 
to  notice  her  eager  face  and  eyes,  cast  now  and  then 
back  toward  the  spot  where  she  had  left  him,  before 


Found  at  Blazing  Star.  93 

there  was  a  crash  in  the  bushes,  and  a  man,  —  the  stran 
ger  of  the  road,  —  leaped  to  her  side.  "  Run,"  he  said  j 
"  run  for  it  now.  You  're  watched  !  " 

"  Oh  !  that  man,  Beard  !  "  she  said,  contemptuously. 

"  No,  another  in  a  wagon.  Quick.  Fool,  you  know 
the  place  now,  —  you  can  come  later  ;  run  !  "  And  half- 
dragging,  half-lifting  her,  he  bore  her  through  the  bushes. 
Scarcely  had  they  closed  behind  the  pair  when  Miss 
Porter  ran  to  the  spot  vacated  by  the  woman.  "  Look !  " 
she  cried,  triumphantly,  "  look  !  " 

Cass  looked,  and  sank  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

"  It  was  worth  a  thousand  dollars,  was  n't  it  ? "  she 
repeated,  maliciously,  "  was  n't  it  ?  But  you  ought  to 
return  it  !  Really  you  ought." 

Cass  could  scarcely  articulate.  "  But  how  did  you  know 
it  ? "  he  finally  gasped. 

"  Oh,  I  suspected  something ;  there  was  a  woman,  and 
you  know  you  're  such  a  fool !  " 

Cass  rose,  stiffly. 

"  Don't  be  a  greater  fool  now,  but  go  and  bring  my 
horse  and  wagon  from  the  hill,  and  don't  say  anything  to 
the  driver." 

"  Then  you  did  not  come  alone  ? " 

"  No  j  it  would  have  been  bold  and  improper." 

"  Please ! " 

"  And  to  think  it  was  the  ring,  after  all,  that  pointed  to 
this,"  she  said. 

"  The  ring  that  you  returned  to  me." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

11  Don't,  please,  the  wagon  is  coming." 


In   the   next   morning's   edition   of  the   "  Red  Chief 
Chronicle  "  appeared  the  following  startling  intelligence : 


94  Found  at  Blazing  Star. 


EXTRAORDINARY    DISCOVERY ! 

FINDING    OF   THE   STOLEN    TREASURE    OF     WELLS,    FARGO 
&   CO.      OVER    $300,000    RECOVERED. 

Our  readers  will  remember  the  notorious  robbery  of 
Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.'s  treasure  from  the  Sacramento  and 
Red  Chief  Pioneer  Coach  on  the  night  of  September  i. 
Although  most  of  the  gang  were  arrested,  it  is  known  that 
two  escaped,  who,  it  was  presumed,  cached  the  treasure, 
amounting  to  nearly  $500,000  in  gold,  drafts,  and  jewelry, 
as  no  trace  of  the  property  was  found.  Yesterday  our 
esteemed  fellow  citizen,  Mr.  Cass  Beard,  long  and  favor 
ably  known  in  this  county,  succeeded  in  exhuming  the 
treasure  in  a  copse  of  hazel  near  the  Red  Chief  turnpike, 
—  adjacent  to  the  spot  where  an  unknown  body  was  lately 
discovered.  This  body  is  now  strongly  suspected  to  be 
that  of  one  Henry  Cass,  a  disreputable  character,  who  has 
since  been  ascertained  to  have  been  one  of  the  road  agents 
who  escaped.  The  matter  is  now  under  legal  investiga 
tion.  The  successful  result  of  the  search  is  due  to  a  sys 
tematic  plan  evolved  from  the  genius  of  Mr.  Beard,  who 
has  devoted  over  a  year  to  this  labor.  It  was  first  sug 
gested  to  him  by  the  finding  of  a  ring,  now  definitely  iden 
tified  as  part  of  the  treasure  which  was  supposed  to  have 
been  dropped  from  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.'s  boxes  by  the 
robbers  in  their  midnight  flight  through  Blazing  Star. 

In  the  same  journal  appeared  the  no  less  important  in 
telligence,  which  explains,  while  it  completes  this  vera 
cious  chronicle  :  — 

"  It  is  rumored  that  a  marriage  is  shortly  to  take  place 
between  the  hero  of  the  late  treasure  discovery  and  a 
young  lady  of  Red  Chief,  whose  devoted  aid  and  assist 
ance  to  this  important  work  is  well  known  to  this  com 
munity." 


Carquine? 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  sun  was  going  down  on  the  Carquinez  Woods. 
The  few  shafts  of  sunlight  that  had  pierced  their  pillared 
gloom  were  lost  in  unfathomable  depths,  or  splintered 
their  ineffectual  lances  on  the  enormous  trunks  of  the  red 
woods.  For  a  time  the  dull  red  of  their  vast  columns, 
and  the  dult  red  of  their  cast-off  bark  which  matted  the 
echoless  aisles,  still  seemed  to  hold  a  faint  glow  of  the 
dying  day.  But  even  this  soon  passed.  Light  and  color 
fled  upwards.  The  dark,  interlaced  tree-tops,  that  had  all 
day  made  an  impenetrable  shade,  broke  into  fire  here  and 
there  j  their  lost  spires  glittered,  faded,  and  went  utterly 
out.  A  weird  twilight  that  did  not  come  from  an  outer 
world,  but  seemed  born  of  the  wood  itself,  slowly  filled 
and  possessed  the  aisles.  The  straight,  tall,  colossal 
trunks  rose  dimly  like  columns  of  upward  smoke.  The 
few  fallen  trees  stretched  their  huge  length  into  obscurity, 
and  seemed  to  lie  on  shadowy  trestles.  The  strange 
breath  that  filled  these  mysterious  vaults  had  neither  cold 
ness  nor  moisture  ;  a  dry,  fragrant  dust  arose  from  the 
noiseless  foot  that  trod  their  bark-strewn  floor  ;  the  aisles 
might  have  been  tombs,  the  fallen  trees,  enormous  mum 
mies  ;  the  silence,  the  solitude  of  the  forgotten  past. 

And  yet  this  silence  was  presently  broken  by  a  recurring 
sound  like  breathing,  interrupted  occasionally  by  inarticu 
late  and  stertorous  gasps.  It  was  not  the  quick,  panting, 
listening  breath  of  some  stealthy  feline  or  canine  animal, 
but  indicated  a  larger,  slower,  and  more  powerful  organi- 


96  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

zation,  whose  progress  was  less  watchful  and  guarded,  or 
as  if  a  fragment  of  one  of  the  fallen  monsters  had  become 
animate.  At  times  this  life  seemed  to  take  visible  form, 
but  as  vaguely,  as  misshapenly,  as  the  phantom  of  a  night 
mare.  Now  it  was  a  square  object  moving  sideways,  end 
ways,  with  neither  head  nor  tail  and  scarcely  visible  feet ; 
then  an  arched  bulk  rolling  against  the  trunks  of  the  trees 
and  recoiling  again,  or  an  upright  cylindrical  mass,  but  al 
ways  oscillating  and  unsteady,  and  striking  the  trees  on 
either  hand.  The  frequent  occurrence  of  the  movement 
suggested  the  figures  of  some  weird  rhythmic  dance  to 
music  heard  by  the  shape  alone.  Suddenly  it  either  be 
came  motionless  or  faded  away. 

There  was  the  frightened  neighing  of  a  horse,  the  sud 
den  jingling  of  spurs,  a  shout  and  outcry,  and  the  swift 
apparition  of  three  dancing  torches  in  one  of  the  dark 
aisles ;  but  so  intense  was  the  obscurity  that  they  shed 
no  light  on  surrounding  objects,  and  seemed  to  advance 
at  their  own  volition  without  human  guidance,  until  they 
disappeared  suddenly  behind  the  interposing  bulk  of  one 
of  the  largest  trees.  Beyond  its  eighty  feet  of  circumfer 
ence  the  light  could  not  reach,  and  the  gloom  remained 
inscrutable.  But  the  voices  and  jingling  spurs  were 
heard  distinctly. 

"  Blast  the  mare  !  She  's  shied  off  that  cursed  trail 
again." 

"  Ye  ain't  lost  it  agin,  hev  ye  ? "  growled  a  second 
voice. 

"That's  jist  what  I  hev.  And  these  blasted  pine- 
knots  don't  give  light  an  inch  beyond  'em.  D d  if  I 

don't  think  they  make  this  cursed  hole  blacker." 

There  was  a  laugh  —  a  woman's  laugh  —  hysterical, 
bitter,  sarcastic,  exasperating.  The  second  speaker, 
without  heeding  it,  went  on  : 

"  What  in  thunder  skeert  the  hosses?  Did  you  see  or 
hear  anything  ? " 


In  the  Carqitinez   Woods.  97 

"  Nothin'.     The  wood  is  like  a  graveyard." 

The  woman's  voice  again  broke  into  a  hoarse,  con 
temptuous  laugh.  The  man  resumed  angrily  : 

"  If  you  know  anything,  why  in  h — 11  don't  you  say  so, 

instead  of  cackling  like  a  d d  squaw  there  ?  P'raps 

you  reckon  you  ken  find  the  trail  too." 

"Take  this  rope  off  my  wrist,"  said  the  woman's  voice, 
"untie  my  hands,  let  me  down,  and  I'll  find  it."  She 
spoke  quickly  and  with  a  Spanish  accent. 

It  was  the  men's  turn  to  laugh.  "  And  give  you  a 
show  to  snatch  that  six-shooter  and  blow  a  hole  through 
me,  as  you  did  to  the  Sheriff  of  Calaveras,  eh  ?  Not  if 
this  court  understands  itself,"  said  the  first  speaker  dryly. 

"  Go  to  the  devil,  then,"  she  said  curtly. 

"  Not  before  a  lady,"  responded  the  other.  There  was 
another  laugh  from  the  men,  the  spurs  jingled  again,  the 
three  torches  reappeared  from  behind  the  tree,  and  then 
passed  away  in  the  darkness. 

For  a  time  silence  and  immutability  possessed  the 
woods ;  the  great  trunks  loomed  upwards,  their  fallen 
brothers  stretched  their  slow  length  into  obscurity.  The 
sound  of  breathing  again  became  audible ;  the  shape  re 
appeared  in  the  aisle,  and  recommenced  its  mystic 
dance.  Presently  it  was  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  largest 
tree,  and  to  the  sound  of  breathing  succeeded  a  grating 
and  scratching  of  bark.  Suddenly,  as  if  riven  by  light 
ning,  a  flash  broke  from  the  centre  of  the  tree-trunk,  lit 
up  the  woods,  and  a  sharp  report  rang  through  it.  After 
a  pause  the  jingling  of  spurs  and  the  dancing  of  torches 
were  revived  from  the  distance. 

"  Hallo  ? " 

No  answer. 

"Who  fired  that  shot?" 

But  there  was  no  reply.  A  slight  veil  of  smoke  passed 
away  to  the  right,  there  was  the  spice  of  gunpowder  in 
the  air,  but  nothing  more. 


98  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

The  torches  came  forward  again,  but  this  time  it  could 
be  seen  they  were  held  in  the  hands  of  two  men  and  a 
woman.  The  woman's  hands  were  tied  at  the  wrist  to 
the  horse-hair  reins  of  her  mule,  while  a  riata,  passed 
around  her  waist  and  under  the  mule's  girth,  was  held  by 
one  of  the  men,  who  were  both  armed  with  rifles  and  re 
volvers.  Their  frightened  horses  curveted,  and  it  was 
with  difficulty  they  could  be  made  to  advance. 

"  Ho  !  stranger,  what  are  you  shooting  at  ? " 

The  woman  laughed  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Look  yonder  at  the  roots  of  the  tree.  You  're  a  d d 

smart  man  for  a  sheriff,  ain't  you?  " 

The  man  uttered  an  exclamation  and  spurred  his  horse 
forward,  but  the  animal  reared  in  terror.  He  then  sprang 
to  the  ground  and  approached  the  tree.  The  shape  lay 
there,  a  scarcely  distinguishable  bulk. 

"  A  grizzly,  by  the  living  Jingo  !  Shot  through  the 
heart." 

It  was  true.  The  strange  shape  lit  up  by  the  flaring 
torches  seemed  more  vague,  unearthly,  and  awkward  in 
its  dying  throes,  yet  the  small  shut  eyes,  the  feeble  nose, 
the  ponderous  shoulders,  and  half-human  foot  armed  with 
powerful  claws  were  unmistakable.  The  men  turned  by 
a  common  impulse  and  peered  into  the  remote  recesses 
of  the  wood  again. 

"Hi,  Mister!  come  and  pick  up  your  game.  Hallo 
there ! " 

The  challenge  fell  unheeded  on  the  empty  woods. 

"  And  yet,"  said  he  whom  the  woman  had  called  the 
sheriff,  "  he  can't  be  far  off.  It  was  a  close  shot,  and  the 
bear  hez  dropped  in  his  tracks.  Why,  wot 's  this  stick 
ing  in  his  claws  ?  " 

The  two  men  bent  over  the  animal.  "  Why,  it's  sugar, 
brown  sugar — look!"  There  was  no  mistake.  The 
huge  beast's  fore  paws  and  muzzle  were  streaked  with 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  •  99 

the  unfomantic  household  provision,  and  heightened  the 
absurd  contrast  of  its  incongruous  members.  The  wo 
man,  apparently  indifferent,  had  taken  that  opportunity 
to  partly  free  one  of  her  wrists. 

"  If  we  had  n't  been  cavorting  round  this  yer  spot  for 
the  last  half  hour,  I  'd  swear  there  was  a  shanty  not  a 
hundred  yards  away,"  said  the  sheriff. 

The  other  man,  without  replying,  remounted  his  horse 
instantly. 

"  If  there  is,  and  it 's  inhabited  by  a  gentleman  that 
kin  make  centre  shots  like  that  in  the  dark,  and  don't 
care  to  explain  how,  I  reckon  I  won't  disturb  him." 

The  sheriff  was  apparently  of  the  same  opinion,  for  he 
followed  his  companion's  example,  and  once  more  led 
the  way.  The  spurs  tinkled,  the  torches  danced,  and  the 
cavalcade  slowly  reentered  the  gloom.  In  another  mo 
ment  it  had  disappeared. 

The  wood  sank  again  into  repose,  this  time  disturbed 
by  neither  shape  nor  sound.  What  lower  forms  of  life 
might  have  crept  close  to  its  roots  were  hidden  in  the 
ferns,  or  passed  with  deadened  tread  over  the  bark-strewn 
floor.  Towards  morning  a  coolness  like  dew  fell  from 
above,  with  here  and  there  a  dropping  twig  or  nut,  or  the 
crepitant  awakening  and  stretching-out  of  cramped  and 
weary  branches.  Later  a  dull,  lurid  dawn,  not  unlike  the 
last  evening's  sunset,  filled  the  aisles.  This  faded  again, 
and  a  clear  gray  light,  in  which  every  object  stood  out  in 
sharp  distinctness,  took  its  place.  Morning  was  waiting 
outside  in  all  its  brilliant,  youthful  coloring,  but  only 
entered  as  the  matured  and  sobered  day. 

Seen  in  that  stronger  light,  the  monstrous  tree  near 
which  the  dead  bear  lay  revealed  its  age  in  its  denuded 
and  scarred  trunk,  and  showed  in  its  base  a  deep  cavity, 
a  foot  or  two  from  the  ground,  partly  hidden  by  hanging 
strips  of  bark  which  had  fallen  across  it.  Suddenly  one 


ioo  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

of  these  strips  was  pushed  aside,  and  a  young  man  leaped 
lightly  down. 

But  for  the  rifle  he  carried  and  some  modern  peculiari 
ties  of  dress,  he  was  of  a  grace  so  unusual  and  uncon 
ventional  that  he  might  have  passed  for  a  faun  who  was 
quitting  his  ancestral  home.  He  stepped  to  the  side  of 
the  bear  with  a  light  elastic  movement  that  was  as  unlike 
customary  progression  as  his  face  and  figure  were  unlike 
the  ordinary  types  of  humanity.  Even  as  he  leaned  upon 
his  rifle,  looking  down  at  the  prostrate  animal,  he  uncon 
sciously  fell  into  an  attitude  that  in  any  other  mortal 
would  have  been  a  pose,  but  with  him  was  the  pictur 
esque  and  unstudied  relaxation  of  perfect  symmetry. 

"  Hallo,  Mister ! " 

He  raised  his  head  so  carelessly  and  listlessly  that  he 
did  not  otherwise  change  his  attitude.  Stepping  from 
behind  the  tree,  the  woman  of  the  preceding  night  stood 
before  him.  Her  hands  were  free  except  for  a  thong  of 
the  riata,  which  was  still  knotted  around  one  wrist,  the 
end  of  the  thong  having  been  torn  or  burnt  away.  Her 
eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  her  hair  hung  over  her  shoul 
ders  in  one  long  black  braid. 

"  I  reckoned  all  along  it  was  you  who  shot  the  bear," 
she  said ;  "  at  least  some  one  hidin'  yer,"  and  she  indi 
cated  the  hollow  tree  with  her  hand.  "It  was  n't  no 
chance  shot."  Observing  that  the  young  man,  either 
from  misconception  or  indifference,  did  not  seem  to  com 
prehend  her,  she  added,  "  We  came  by  here,  last  night,  a 
minute  after  you  fired." 

"  Oh,  that  was  you  kicked  up  such  a  row,  was  it  ?  "  said 
the  young  man,  with  a  shade  of  interest. 

"  I  reckon,"  said  the  woman,  nodding  her  head,  "  and 
them  that  was  with  me." 

"  And  who  are  they  ? " 

"  Sheriff  Dunn,  of  Yolo,  and  his  deputy." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  101 

"  And  where  are  they  now  ? " 

"  The  deputy  —  in  h — 11,  I  reckon.  I  don't  know  about 
the  sheriff." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  young  man  quietly  ;  "  and  you?  " 

"  I  — got  away,"  she  said  savagely.  But  she  was  taken 
with  a  sudden  nervous  shiver,  which  she  at  once  repressed 
by  tightly  dragging  her  shawl  over  her  shoulders  and  el 
bows,  and  folding  her  arms  defiantly. 

"  And  you  're  going  ?  " 

"To  follow  the  deputy,  may  be,"  she  said  gloomily. 
"  But  come,  I  say,  ain't  you  going  to  treat  ?  It 's  cursed 
cold  here." 

"Wait  a  moment."  The  young  man  was  looking  at 
her,  with  his  arched  brows  slightly  knit  and  a  half  smile 
of  curiosity.  "  Ain't  you  Teresa  ?  " 

She  was  prepared  for  the  question,  but  evidently  was 
not  certain  whether  she  would  reply  defiantly  or  confi 
dently.  After  an  exhaustive  scrutiny  of  his  face  she 
chose  the  latter,  and  said,  "You  can  bet  your  life  on  it, 
Johnny." 

"I  don't  bet,  and  my  name  is  n't  Johnny.  Then 
you  're  the  woman  who  stabbed  Dick  Curson  over  at 
Lagrange's  ? " 

She  became  defiant  again.  "That's  me,  all  the  time. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ? " 

"  Nothing.    And  you  used  to  dance  at  the  Alhambra  ?  " 

She  whisked  the  shawl  from  her  shoulders,  held  it  up 
like  a  scarf,  and  made  one  or  two  steps  of  the  sembi- 
cuacua.  There  was  not  the  least  gayety,  recklessness, 
or  spontaneity  in  the  action ;  it  was  simply  mechanical 
bravado.  It  was  so  ineffective,  even  upon  her  own  feel 
ings,  that  her  arms  presently  dropped  to  her  side,  and  she 
coughed  embarrassedly.  "  Where  's  that  whiskey,  pard- 
ner  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  young  man  turned  toward  the   tree  he  had  just 


IO2  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

quitted,  and  without  further  words  assisted  her  to  mount 
to  the  cavity.  It  was  an  irregular-shaped  vaulted  cham 
ber,  pierced  fifty  feet  above  by  a  shaft  or  cylindrical  open 
ing  in  the  decayed  trunk,  which  was  blackened  by  smoke 
as  if  it  had  served  the  purpose  of  a  chimney.  In  one 
corner  lay  a  bearskin  and  blanket ;  at  the  side  were  two 
alcoves  or  indentations,  one  of  which  was  evidently  used 
as  a  table,  and  the  other  as  a  cupboard.  In  another 
hollow,  near  the  entrance,  lay  a  few  small  sacks  of  flour, 
coffee,  and  sugar,  the  sticky  contents  of  the  latter  still 
strewing  the  floor.  From  this  storehouse  the  young  man 
drew  a  wicker  flask  of  whiskey,  and  handed  it,  with  a  tin 
cup  of  water,  to  the  woman.  She  waved  the  cup  aside, 
placed  the  flask  to  her  lips,  and  drank  the  undiluted 
spirit.  Yet  even  this  was  evidently  bravado,  for  the 
water  started  to  her  eyes,  and  she  could  not  restrain  the 
paroxysm  of  coughing  that  followed. 

"  I  reckon  that 's  the  kind  that  kills  at  forty  rods,"  she 
said,  with  a  hysterical  laugh.  "  But  I  say,  pardner,  you 
look  as  if  you  were  fixed  here  to  stay,"  and  she  stared 
ostentatiously  around  the  chamber.  But  she  had  already 
taken  in  its  minutest  details,  even  to  observing  that  the 
hanging  strips  of  bark  could  be  disposed  so  as  to  com 
pletely  hide  the  entrance. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  would  n't  be  very  easy  to 
pull  up  the  stakes  and  move  the  shanty  further  on." 

Seeing  that  either  from  indifference  or  caution  he  had 
not  accepted  her  meaning,  she  looked  at  him  fixedly,  and 
said,  — 

"  What  is  your  little  game  ?  " 

"  Eh  ? " 

"  What  are  you  hiding  for  —  here  in  this  tree  ? " 

"  But  I  'm  ndt  hiding." 

"  Then  why  did  n't  you  come  out  when  they  hailed  you 
last  night  ? " 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  103 

"  Because  I  did  n't  care  to." 

Teresa  whistled  incredulously.  "  All  right  —  then  if 
you  're  not  hiding,  I  'm  going  to."  As  he  did  not  reply, 
she  went  on  :  "  If  I  can  keep  out  of  sight  for  a  couple  of 
weeks,  this  thing  will  blow  over  here,  and  I  can  get  across 
into  Yolo.  I  could  get  a  fair  show  there,  where  the  boys 
know  me.  Just  now  the  trails  are  all  watched,  but  no 
one  would  think  of  lookin'  here." 

"  Then  how  did  you  come  to  think  of  it  ?  "  he  asked 
carelessly. 

"  Because  I  knew  that  bear  had  n't  gone  far  for  that 
sugar ;  because  I  knew  he  had  n't  stole  it  from  a  cache  — 
it  was  too  fresh,  and  we  'd  have  seen  the  torn-up  earth ; 
because  we  had  passed  no  camp  ;  and  because  I  knew 
there  was  no  shanty  here.  And,  besides,"  she  added  in 
a  low  voice,  "may  be  I  was  huntin'  a  hole  myself  to  die 
in  —  and  spotted  it  by  instinct." 

There  was  something  in  this  suggestion  of  a  hunted 
animal  that,  unlike  anything  she  had  previously  said  or 
suggested,  was  not  exaggerated,  and  caused  the  young 
man  to  look  at  her  again.  She  was  standing  under  the 
chimney-like  opening,  and  the  light  from  above  illumi 
nated  her  head  and  shoulders.  The  pupils  of  her  eyes 
had  lost  their  feverish  prominence,  and  were  slightly  suf 
fused  and  softened  as  she  gazed  abstractedly  before  her. 
The  only  vestige  of  her  previous  excitement  was  in  her 
left-hand  fingers,  which  were  incessantly  twisting  and 
turning  a  diamond  ring  upon  her  right  hand,  but  without 
imparting  the  least  animation  to  her  rigid  attitude.  Sud 
denly,  as  if  conscious  of  his  scrutiny,  she  stepped  aside 
out  of  the  revealing  light,  and  by  a  swift  feminine  instinct 
raised  her  hand  to  her  head  as  if  to  adjust  her  straggling 
hair.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however,  for,  as  if  aware 
of  the  weakness,  she  struggled  to  resume  her  aggressive 
pose. 


IO4  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"Well,"  she  said.  "Speak  up.  Am  I  goin'  to  stop 
here,  or  have  I  got  to  get  up  and  get  ? " 

"  You  can  stay,"  said  the  young  man  quietly ;  "  but  as 
I  've  got  my  provisions  and  ammunition  here,  and  have  n't 
any  other  place  to  go  to  just  now,  I  suppose  we  '11  have 
to  share  it  together." 

She  glanced  at  him  under  her  eyelids,  and  a  half-bitter, 
half-contemptuous  smile  passed  across  her  face.  "All 
right,  old  man,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand,  "it 's  a  go. 
We  '11  start  in  housekeeping  at  once,  if  you  like." 

"  I  '11  have  to  come  here  once  or  twice  a  day,"  he  said, 
quite  composedly,  "  to  look  after  my  things,  and  get  some 
thing  to  eat ;  but  I  '11  be  away  most  of  the  time,  and  what 
with  camping  out  under  the  trees  every  night  I  reckon  my 
share  won't  incommode  you." 

She  opened  her  black  eyes  upon  him,  at  this  original 
proposition.  Then  she  looked  down  at  her  torn  dress. 
"  I  suppose  this  style  of  thing  ain't  very  fancy,  is  it  ? " 
she  said,  with  a  forced  laugh. 

"  I  think  I  know  where  to  beg  or  borrow  a  change  for 
you,  if  you  can't  get  any,"  he  replied  simply. 

She  stared  at  him  again.     "  Are  you  a  family  man? " 

"  No."  % 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  you 
can  tell  your  girl  I  'm  not  particular  about  its  being  in  the 
latest  fashion." 

There  was  a  slight  flush  on  his  forehead  as  he  turned 
toward  the  little  cupboard,  but  no  tremor  in  his  voice  as 
he  went  on  :  "  You'll  find  tea  and  coffee  here,  and,  if 
you  're  bored,  there  's  a  book  or  two.  You  read,  don't 
you  —  I  mean  English  ?  " 

She  nodded,J?ut  cast  a  look  of  undisguised  contempt 
upon  the  two  worn,  coverless  novels  he  held  out  to  her. 
"  You  have  n't  got  last  week's  '  Sacramento  Union,'  have 
you  ?  I  hear  they  have  my  case  all  in  ;  only  them  lying 
reporters  made  it  out  against  me  all  the  time." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  105 

"  I  don't  see  the  papers,"  he  replied  curtly. 

"  They  say  there  's  a  picture  of  me  in  the  '  Police  Ga 
zette,'  taken  in  the  act,"  and  she  laughed. 

He  looked  a  little  abstracted,  and  turned  as  if  to  go. 
"  I  think  you  '11  do  well  to  rest  a  while  just  now,  and  keep 
as  close  hid  as  possible  until  afternoon.  The  trail  is  a  mile 
away  at  the  nearest  point,  but  some  one  might  miss  it  and 
stray  over  here.  You  're  quite  safe  if  you  're  careful,  and 
stand  by  the  tree.  You  can  build  afire  here,"  he  stepped 
under  the  chimney-like  opening,  "  without  its  being  noticed. 
Even  the  smoke  is  lost  and  cannot  be  seen  so  high." 

The  light  from  above  was  falling  on  his  head  and 
shoulders,  as  it  had  on  hers.  She  looked  at  him  intently. 

"  You  travel  a  good  deal  on  your  figure,  pardner,  don't 
you  ? "  she  said,  with  a  certain  admiration  that  was  quite 
sexless  in  its  quality ;  "  but  I  don't  see  how  you  pick  up 
a  living  by  it  in  the  Carquinez  Woods.  So  you  're  going, 
are  you  ?  You  might  be  more  sociable.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by  !  "     He  leaped  from  the  opening. 

"  I  say,  pardner ! " 

He  turned  a  little  impatiently.  She  had  knelt  down  at 
the  entrance,  so  as  to  be  nearer  his  level,  and  was  hold 
ing  out  her  hand.  But  he  did  not  notice  it,  and  she 
quietly  withdrew  it. 

"  If  anybody  dropped  in  and  asked  for  you,  what  name 
will  they  say  ?  " 

He  smiled.     "  Don't  wait  to  hear." 

"But  suppose  I  wanted  to  sing  out  for  you,  what  will 
I  call  you  ?  " 

He  hesitated.     "  Call  me  —  Lo." 

"  Lo,  the  poor  Indian  ?  "  l 

"  Exactly." 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  the  woman,  Teresa,  that  in  the 

1  The  first  word  of  Pope's  familiar  apostrophe  is  humorously  used 
in  the  far  West  as  a  distinguishing  title  for  the  Indian. 


io6  In  the  Carquinez  Woods. 

young  man's  height,  supple,  yet  erect  carriage,  color,  and 
singular  gravity  of  demeanor  there  was  a  refined,  aborigi 
nal  suggestion.  He  did  not  look  like  any  Indian  she  had 
ever  seen,  but  rather  as  a  youthful  chief  might  have 
looked.  There  was  a  further  suggestion  in  his  fringed 
buckskin  shirt  and  moccasins ;  but  before  she  could  ut 
ter  the  half-sarcastic  comment  that  rose  to  her  lips  he 
had  glided  noiselessly  away,  even  as  an  Indian  might 
have  done. 

She  readjusted  the  slips  of  hanging  bark  with  feminine 
ingenuity,  dispersing  them  so  as  to  completely  hide  the 
entrance.  Yet  this  did  not  darken  the  chamber,  which 
seemed  to  draw  a  purer  and  more  vigorous  light  through 
the  soaring  shaft  that  pierced  the  room  than  that  which 
came  from  the  dim  woodland  aisles  below.  Nevertheless, 
she  shivered,  and  drawing  her  shawl  closely  around  her 
began  to  collect  some  half-burnt  fragments  of  wood  in  the 
chimney  to  make  a  fire.  But  the  preoccupation  of  her 
thoughts  rendered  this  a  tedious  process,  as  she  would 
from  time  to  time  stop  in  the  middle  of  an  action  and 
fall  into  an  attitude  of  rapt  abstraction,  with  far-off  eyes 
and  rigid  mouth.  When  she  had  at  last  succeeded  in 
kindling  a  fire  and  raising  a  film  of  pale  blue  smoke,  that 
seemed  to  fade  and  dissipate  entirely  before  it  reached 
the  top  of  the  chimney  shaft,  she  crouched  beside  it,  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  darkest  corner  of  the  cavern,  and  became 
motionless. 

What  did  she  see  through  that  shadow  ? 

Nothing  at  first  but  a  confused  medley  of  figures  and 
incidents  of  the  preceding  night ;  things  to  be  put  away 
and  forgotten ;  things  that  would  not  have  happened  but 
for  another  thing — the  thing  before  which  everything 
faded  !  A  ball-room  ;  the  sounds  of  music  ;  the  one  man 
she  had  cared  for  insulting  her  with  the  flaunting  osten 
tation  of  his  unfaithfulness  ;  herself  despised,  put  aside, 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  107 

laughed  at,  or  worse,  jilted.  And  then  the  moment  of 
delirium,  when  the  light  danced ;  the  one  wild  act  that 
lifted  her,  the  despised  one,  above  them  all  —  made  her 
the  supreme  figure,  to  be  glanced  at  by  frightened 
women,  stared  at  by  half-startled,  half-admiring  men ! 
"Yes,"  she  laughed  ;  but  struck  by  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice,  moved  twice  round  the  cavern  nervously,  and  then 
dropped  again  into  her  old  position. 

As  they  carried  him  away  he  had  laughed  at  her  — 
like  a  hound  that  he  was  ;  he  who  had  praised  her  for 
her  spirit,  and  incited  her  revenge  against  others  ;  he 
who  had  taught  her  to  strike  when  she  was  insulted ; 
and  it  was  only  fit  he  should  reap  what  he  had  sown. 
She  was  what  he,  what  other  men,  had  made  her.  And 
what  was  she  now  ?  What  had  she  been  once  ? 

She  tried  to  recall  her  childhood :  the  man  and  woman 
who  might  have  been  her  father  and  mother ;  who  fought 
and  wrangled  over  her  precocious  little  life ;  abused  or 
caressed  her  as  she  sided  with  either ;  and  then  left  her 
with  a  circus  troupe,  where  she  first  tasted  the  power  of 
her  courage,  her  beauty,  and  her  recklessness.  She  re 
membered  those  flashes  of  triumph  that  left  a  fever  in  her 
veins  —  a  fever  that  when  it  failed  must  be  stimulated  by 
dissipation,  by  anything,  by  everything  that  would  keep 
her  name  a  wonder  in  men's  mouths,  an  envious  fear  to 
women.  She  recalled  her  transfer  to  the  strolling  play 
ers  ;  her  cheap  pleasures,  and  cheaper  rivalries  and 
hatred  —  but  always  Teresa !  the  daring  Teresa !  the 
reckless  Teresa !  audacious  as  a  woman,  invincible  as  a 
boy ;  dancing,  flirting,  fencing,  shooting,  swearing,  drink 
ing,  smoking,  fighting  Teresa  !  "  Oh,  yes  ;  she  had  been 
loved,  perhaps  —  who  knows  ?  —  but  always  feared. 
Why  should  she  change  now  ?  Ha,  he  should  see." 

She  had  lashed  herself  in  a  frenzy,  as  was  her  wont, 
with  gestures,  ejaculations,  oaths,  adjurations,  and  pas- 


io8  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

sionate  apostrophes,  but  with  this  strange  and  unexpected 
result.  Heretofore  she  had  always  been  sustained  and 
kept  up  by  an  audience  of  some  kind  or  quality,  if  only 
perhaps  a  humble  companion  ;  there  had  always  been 
some  one  she  could  fascinate  or  horrify,  and  she  could 
read  her  power  mirrored  in  their  eyes.  Even  the  half- 
abstracted  indifference  of  her  strange  host  had  been 
something.  But  she  was  alone  now.  Her  words  fell  on 
apathetic  solitude ;  she  was  acting  to  viewless  space. 
She  rushed  to  the  opening,  dashed  the  hanging  bark 
aside  and  leaped  to  the  ground. 

She  ran  forward  wildly  a  few  steps,  and  stopped. 

"  Hallo  !  "  she  cried.     "  Look,  Jt  is  I,  Teresa  !  " 

The  profound  silence  remained  unbroken.  Her  shrill 
est  tones  were  lost  in  an  echoless  space,  even  as  the 
smoke  of  her  fire  had  faded  into  pure  ether.  She 
stretched  out  her  clenched  fists  as  if  to  defy  the  pillared 
austerities  of  the  vaults  around  her. 

"  Come  and  take  me  if  you  dare  ! " 

The  challenge  was  unheeded.  If  she  had  thrown  her 
self  violently  against  the  nearest  tree-trunk,  she  could  not 
have  been  stricken  more  breathless  than  she  was  by  the 
compact,  embattled  solitude  that  encompassed  her.  The 
hopelessness  of  impressing  these  cold  and  passive  vaults 
with  her  selfish  passion  filled  her  with  a  vague  fear.  In 
her  rage  of  the  previous  night  she  had  not  seen  the  wood 
in  its  profound  immobility.  Left  alone  with  the  majesty 
of  those  enormous  columns,  she  trembled  and  turned 
faint.  The  silence  of  the  hollow  tree  she  had  just  quitted 
seemed  to  her  less  awful  than  the  crushing  presence  of 
these  mute  and  monstrous  witnesses  of  her  weakness. 
Like  a  wounded  quail  with  lowered  crest  and  trailing 
wing,  she  crept  back  to  her  hiding-place. 

Even  then  the  influence  of  the  wood  was  still  upon  her. 
She  picked  up  the  novel  she  had  contemptuously  thrown 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  109 

aside,  only  to  let  it  fall  again  in  utter  weariness.  For  a 
moment  her  feminine  curiosity  was  excited  by  the  discov 
ery  of  an  old  book,  in  whose  blank  leaves  were  pressed  a 
variety  of  flowers  and  woodland  grasses.  As  she  could 
not  conceive  that  these  had  been  kept  for  any  but  a  senti 
mental  purpose,  she  was  disappointed  to  find  that  under 
neath  each  was  a  sentence  in  an  unknown  tongue,  that 
even  to  her  untutored  eye  did  not  appear  to  be  the  lan 
guage  of  passion.  Finally  she  rearranged  the  couch  of 
skins  and  blankets,  and,  imparting  to  it  in  three  clever 
shakes  an  entirely  different  character,  lay  down  to  pursue 
her  reveries.  But  nature  asserted  herself,  and  ere  she 
knew  it  she  was  fast  asleep. 

So  intense  and  prolonged  had  been  her  previous  excite 
ment  that,  the  tension  once  relieved,  she  passed  into  a 
slumber  of  exhaustion  so  deep  that  she  seemed  scarce  to 
breathe.  High  noon  succeeded  morning,  the  central  shaft 
received  a  single  ray  of  upper  sunlight,  the  afternoon 
came  and  went,  the  shadows  gathered  below,  the  sunset 
fires  began  to  eat  their  way  through  the  groined  roof,  and 
she  still  slept.  She  slept  even  when  the  bark  hangings 
of  the  chamber  were  put  aside,  and  the  young  man  re- 
entered. 

He  laid  down  a  bundle  he  was  carrying,  and  softly  ap 
proached  the  sleeper.  For  a  moment  he  was  startled 
from  his  indifference  ;  she  lay  so  still  and  motionless. 
But  this  was  not  all  that  struck  him ;  the  face  before  him 
was  no  longer  the  passionate,  haggard  visage  that  con 
fronted  him  that  morning ;  the  feverish  air,  the  burning 
color,  the  strained  muscles  of  mouth  and  brow,  and  the 
staring  eyes  were  gone  ;  wiped  away,  perhaps,  by  the  tears 
that  still  left  their  traces  on  cheek  and  dark  eyelash.  It 
was  a  face  of  a  handsome  woman  of  thirty,  with  even  a 
suggestion  of  softness  in  the  contour  of  the  cheek  and 
arching  of  her  upper  lip,  no  longer  rigidly  drawn  down  in 
anger,  but  relaxed  by  sleep  on  her  white  teeth. 


no  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

With  the  lithe,  soft  tread  that  was  habitual  to  him,  the 
young  man  moved  about,  examining  the  condition  of  the 
little  chamber  and  its  stock  of  provisions  and  necessaries, 
and  withdrew  presently,  to  reappear  as  noiselessly  with  a 
tin  bucket  of  water.  This  done  he  replenished  the  little 
pile  of  fuel  with  an  armful  of  bark  and  pine  cones,  cast 
an  approving  glance  about  him,  which  included  the 
sleeper,  and  silently  departed. 

It  was  night  when  she  awoke.  She  was  surrounded  by 
a  profound  darkness,  except  where  the  shaft-like  opening 
made  a  nebulous  mist  in  the  corner  in  her  wooden  cavern. 
Providentially  she  struggled  back  to  consciousness  slowly, 
so  that  the  solitude  and  silence  came  upon  her  gradually, 
with  a  growing  realization  of  the  events  of  the  past 
twenty-four  hours,  but  without  a  shock.  She  was  alone 
here,  but  safe  still,  and  every  hour  added  to  her  chances 
of  ultimate  escape.  She  remembered  to  have  seen  a 
candle  among  the  articles  on  the  shelf,  and  she  began  to 
grope  her  way  toward  the  matches.  Suddenly  she  stopped. 
What  was  that  panting  ? 

Was  it  her  own  breathing,  quickened  with  a  sudden 
nameless  terror  ?  or  was  there  something  outside  ?  Her 
heart  seemed  to  stop  beating  while  she  listened.  Yes  !  it 
was  a  panting  outside  —  a  panting  now  increased,  multi 
plied,  redoubled,  mixed  with  the  sounds  of  rustling,  tear 
ing,  craunching,  and  occasionally  a  quick,  impatient  snarl. 
She  crept  on  her  hands  and  knees  to  the  opening  and 
looked  out.  At  first  the  ground  seemed  to  be  undulating 
between  her  and  the  opposite  tree.  But  a  second  glance 
showed  her  the  black  and  gray,  bristling,  tossing  backs 
of  tumbling  beasts  of  prey,  charging  the  carcass  of  the 
bear  that  lay  at  its  roots,  or  contesting  for  the  prize  with 
gluttonous  choked  breath,  sidelong  snarls,  arched  spines, 
and  recurved  tails.  One  of  the  boldest  had  leaped  upon 
a  buttressing  root  of  her  tree  within  a  foot  of  the  opening. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  in 

The  excitement,  awe,  and  terror  she  had  undergone  cul 
minated  in  one  wild,  maddened  scream,  that  seemed  to 
pierce  even  the  cold  depths  of  the  forest,  as  she  dropped 
on  her  face,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  her  eyes  in  an 
agony  of  fear. 

Her  scream  was  answered,  after  a  pause,  by  a  sudden 
volley  of  firebrands  and  sparks  into  the  midst  of  the 
panting,  crowding  pack  ;  a  few  smothered  howls  and 
snaps,  and  a  sudden  dispersion  of  the  concourse.  In  an 
other  moment  the  young  man,  with  a  blazing  brand  in 
either  hand,  leaped  upon  the  body  of  the  bear. 

Teresa  raised  her  head,  uttered  a  hysterical  cry,  slid 
down  the  tree,  flew  wildly  to  his  side,  caught  convulsively 
at  his  sleeve,  and  fell  on  her  knees  beside  him. 

"  Save  me  !  save  me  !  "  she  gasped,  in  a  voice  broken 
by  terror.  "  Save  me  from  those  hideous  creatures.  No, 
no  !  "  she  implored,  as  he  endeavored  to  lift  her  to  her 
feet.  "  No  —  let  me  stay  here  close  beside  you.  So," 
clutching  the  fringe  of  his  leather  hunting-shirt,  and  drag 
ging  herself  on  her  knees  nearer  him  —  "so  —  don't  leave 
me,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

"  They  are  gone,"  he  replied,  gazing  down  curiously  at 
her,  as  she  wound  the  fringe  around  her  hand  to  strengthen 
her  hold ;  "  they  're  only  a  lot  of  cowardly  coyotes  and 
wolves,  that  dare  not  attack  anything  that  lives  and  can 
move." 

The  young  woman  responded  with  a  nervous  shudder. 
"  Yes,  that 's  it,"  she  whispered,  in  a  broken  voice  ;  "  it 's 
only  the  dead  they  want.  Promise  me  —  swear  to  me,  if 
I  'm  caught,  or  hung,  or  shot,  you  won't  let  me  be  left 
here  to  be  torn  and  —  ah  !  my  God  !  what 's  that  ?  " 

She  had  thrown  her  arms  around  his  knees,  completely 
pinioning  him  to  her  frantic  breast.  Something  like  a 
smile  of  disdain  passed  across  his  face  as  he  answered, 
"  It 's  nothing.  They  will  not  return.  Get  up ! " 


H2  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

Even  in  her  terror  she  saw  the  change  in  his  face.  "  I 
know,  I  know  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  'm  frightened  —  but  I 
cannot  bear  it  any  longer.  Hear  me  !  Listen  !  Listen 
—  but  don't  move  !  I  did  n't  mean  to  kill  Curson  —  no  ! 
I  swear  to  God,  no  !  I  did  n't  mean  to  kill  the  sheriff  — 
and  I  did  n't.  I  was  only  bragging  —  do  you  hear  ?  I 
lied  !  I  lied  —  don't  move,  I  swear  to  God  1  lied.  I  've 
made  myself  out  worse  than  I  was.  I  have.  Only  don't 
leave  me  now — and  if  I  die  —  and  it's  not  far  off,  may 
be  —  get  me  away  from  here  —  and  from  them.  Swear 
it ! " 

"  All  right,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  scarcely  con-*5 
cealed  movement  of  irritation.  "  But  get  up  now,  and  go 
back  to  the  cabin." 

"  No ;  not  there  alone."  Nevertheless,  he  quietly  but 
firmly  released  himself. 

"  I  will  stay  here,"  he  replied.  "  I  would  have  been 
nearer  to  you,  but  I  thought  it  better  for  your  safety  that 
my  camp-fire  should  be  further  off.  But  I  can  build  it 
here,  and  that  will  keep  the  coyotes  off." 

"Let  me  stay  with  you — beside  you,"  she  said  im 
ploringly. 

She  looked  so  broken,  crushed,  and  spiritless,  so  unlike 
the  woman  of  the  morning  that,  albeit  with  an  ill  grace, 
he  tacitly  consented,  and  turned  away  to  bring  his  blan 
kets.  But  in  the  next  moment  she  was  at  his  side,  follow 
ing  him  like  a  dog,  silent  and  wistful,  and  even  offering 
to  carry  his  burden.  When  he  had  built  the  fire,  for 
which  she  had  collected  the  pine-cones  and  broken 
branches  near  them,  he  sat  down,  folded  his  arms,  and 
leaned  back  against  the  tree  in  reserved  and  deliberate 
silence.  Humble  and  submissive,  she  did  not  attempt  to 
break  in  upon  a  reverie  she  could  not  help  but  feel  had 
little  kindliness  to  herself.  As  the  fire  snapped  and 
sparkled,  she  pillowed  her  head  upon  a  root,  and  lay  still 
to  watch  it. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  1 1 3 

It  rose  and  fell,  and  dying  away  at  times  to  a  mere 
lurid  glow,  and  again,  agitated  by  some  breath  scarcely 
perceptible  to  them,  quickening  into  a  roaring  flame. 
When  only  the  embers  remained,  a  dead  silence  filled  the 
wood.  Then  the  first  breath  of  morning  moved  the 
tangled  canopy  above,  and  a  dozen  tiny  sprays  and 
needles  detached  from  the  interlocked  boughs  winged 
their  soft  way  noiselessly  to  the  earth.  A  few  fell  upon 
the  prostrate  woman  like  a  gentle  benediction,  and  she 
slept.  But  even  then,  the  young  man,  looking  down,  saw 
that  the  slender  fingers  were  still  aimlessly  but  rigidly 
twisted  in  the  leather  fringe  of  his  hunting-shirt. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IT  was  a  peculiarity  of  the  Carquinez  Wood  that  it 
stood  apart  and  distinct  in  its  gigantic  individuality. 
Even  where  the  integrity  of  its  own  singular  species  was 
not  entirely  preserved,  it  admitted  no  inferior  trees.  Nor 
was  there  any  diminishing  fringe  on  its  outskirts ;  the 
sentinels  that  guarded  the  few  gateways  of  the  dim  trails 
were  as  monstrous  as  the  serried  ranks  drawn  up  in  the 
heart  of  the  forest.  Consequently,  the  red  highway  that 
skirted  the  eastern  angle  was  bare  and  shadeless,  until 
it  slipped  a  league  off  into  a  watered  valley  and  refreshed 
itself  under  lesser  sycamores  and  willows.  It  was  here 
the  newly-born  city  of  Excekior,  still  in  its  cradle,  had, 
like  an  infant  Hercules,  strangled  the  serpentine  North 
Fork  of  the  American  river,  and  turned  its  life-current 
into  the  ditches  and  flumes  of  the  Excelsior  miners. 

Newest  of  the  new  houses  that  seemed  to  have  acci 
dentally  formed  its  single,  straggling  street  was  the  resi 
dence  of  the  Rev.  Winslow  Wynn,  not  unfrequently  known 
as  "  Father  Wynn,"  pastor  of  the  first  Baptist  church. 
The  "pastorage,"  as  it  was  cheerfully  called,  had  the 
glaring  distinction  of  being  built  of  brick,  and  was,  as  had 
been  wickedly  pointed  out  by  idle  scoffers,  the  only 
"  fireproof "  structure  in  town.  This  sarcasm  was  not, 
however,  supposed  to  be  particularly  distasteful  to  "  Fa 
ther  Wynn,"  who  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  "  hail 
fellow,  well  met "  with  the  rough  mining  element,  who 
called  them  by  their  Christian  names,  had  been  known  to 
drink  at  the  bar  of  the  Polka  Saloon  while  engaged  in 
the  conversion  of  a  prominent  citizen,  and  was  popularly 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  115 

said  to  have  no  "  gospel  starch  "  about  him.  Certain 
conscious  outcasts  and  transgressors  were  touched  at 
this  apparent  unbending  of  the  spiritual  authority.  The 
rigid  tenets  of  Father  Wynn's  faith  were  lost  in  the  sup 
posed  catholicity  of  his  humanity.  "A  preacher  that  can 
jine  a  man  when  he  's  histin'  liquor  into  him,  without 
jawin'  about  it,  ought  to  be  allowed  to  wrestle  with  sin 
ners  and  splash  about  in  as  much  cold  water  as  he  likes," 
was  the  criticism  of  one  of  his  converts.  Nevertheless,  it 
was  true  that  Father  Wynn  was  somewhat  loud  and  in 
tolerant  in  his  tolerance.  It  was  true  that  he  was  a  little 
more  rough,  a  little  more  frank,  a  little  more  hearty,  a  lit 
tle  more  impulsive,  than  his  disciples.  It  was  true  that 
often  the  proclamation  of  his  extreme  liberality  and  broth 
erly  equality  partook  somewhat  of  an  apology.  It  is  true 
that  a  few  who  might  have  been  most  benefited  by  this 
kind  of  gospel  regarded  him  with  a  singular  disdain.  It 
is  true  that  his  liberality  was  of  an  ornamental,  insinuat 
ing  quality,  accompanied  with  but  little  sacrifice ;  his  ac 
ceptance  of  a  collection  taken  up  in  a  gambling-saloon 
for  the  rebuilding  of  his  church,  destroyed  by  fire,  gave 
him  a  popularity  large  enough,  it  must  be  confessed,  to 
cover  the  sins  of  the  gamblers  themselves,  but  it  was  not 
proven  that  he  had  ever  organized  any  form  of  relief.  But 
it  was  true  that  local  history  somehow  accepted  him  as 
an  exponent  of  mining  Christianity,  without  the  least  ref 
erence  to  the  opinions  of  the  Christian  miners  themselves. 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn's  liberal  habits  and  opinions  were 
not,  however,  shared  by  his  only  daughter,  a  motherless 
young  lady  of  eighteen.  Nellie  Wynn  was  in  the  eye  of 
Excelsior  an  unapproachable  divinity,  as  inaccessible  and 
cold  as  her  father  was  impulsive  and  familiar.  An  atmos 
phere  of  chaste  and  proud  virginity  made  itself  felt  even 
in  the  starched  integrity  of  her  spotless  skirts,  in  her 
neatly-gloved  finger-tips,  in  her  clear  amber  eyes,  in  her 


Ii6  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

imperious  red  lips,  in  her  sensitive  nostrils.  Need  it  be 
*  said  that  the  youth  and  middle  age  of  Excelsior  were 
madly,  because  apparently  hopelessly,  in  love  with  her  ? 
For  the  rest,  she  had  been  expensively  educated,  was  pro 
foundly  ignorant  in  two  languages,  with  a  trained  misun 
derstanding  of  music  and  painting,  and  a  natural  and 
faultless  taste  in  dress. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn  was  engaged  in  a  characteristic 
hearty  parting  with  one  of  his  latest  converts  upon  his 
own  doorstep,  with  admirable  al  fresco  effect.  He  had 
just  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  Good-by,  good-by, 
Charley,  my  boy,  and  keep  in  the  right  path ;  not  up,  or 
down,  or  round  the  gulch,  you  know  —  ha,  ha!  —  but 
straight  across  lots  to  the  shining  gate."  He  had  raised 
his  voice  under  the  stimulus  of  a  few  admiring  spectators, 
and  backed  his  convert  playfully  against  the  wall.  "  You 
see  !  we  're  goin'  in  to  win,  you  bet.  Good-by  !  I  'd  ask 
you  to  step  in  and  have  a  chat,  but  I  Ve  got  my  work 
to  do,  and  so  have  you.  The  gospel  mustn't  keep  us 
from  that,  must  it,  Charley  ?  Ha,  ha !  " 

The  convert  (who  elsewhere  was  a  profane  expressman, 
and  had  become  quite  imbecile  under  Mr.  Wynn's  active 
heartiness  and  brotherly  horse-play  before  spectators) 
managed,  however,  to  feebly  stammer  with  a  blush  some 
thing  about  "  Miss  Nellie." 

"  Ah,  Nellie.  She,  too,  is  at  her  tasks  —  trimming  her 
lamp  —  you  know,  the  parable  of  the  wise  virgins,"  con 
tinued  Father  Wynn  hastily,  fearing  that  the  convert 
might  take  the  illustration  literally.  "There,  there  — 
good-by.  Keep  in  the  right  path."  And  with  a  parting 
shove  he  dismissed  Charley  and  entered  his  own  house. 

That  "wise  virgin,"  Nellie,  had  evidently  finished  with 
the  lamp,  and  was  now  going  out  to  meet  the  bridegroom, 
as  she  was  fully  dressed  and  gloved,  and  had  a  pink  par 
asol  in  her  hand,  as  her  father  entered  the  sitting-room. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  1 1 7 

His  bluff  heartiness  seemed  to  fade  away  as  he  removed 
his  soft,  broad-brimmed  hat  and  glanced  across  the  too 
fresh-looking  apartment.  There  was  a  smell  of  mortar 
still  in  the  air,  and  a  faint  suggestion  that  at  any  moment 
green  grass  might  appear  between  the  interstices  of  the  red 
brick  hearth.  The  room,  yielding  a  little  in  the  point  of 
coldness,  seemed  to  share  Miss  Nellie's  fresh  virginity,  and, 
barring  the  pink  parasol,  set  her  off  as  in  a  vestal's  cell. 

"I  supposed  you  wouldn't  care  to  see  Brace,  the  ex 
pressman,  so  I  got  rid  of  him  at  the  door,"  said  her  father, 
drawing  one  of  the  new  chairs  towards  him  slowly,  and 
sitting  down  carefully,  as  if  it  were  a  hitherto  untried  ex 
periment. 

Miss  Nellie's  face  took  a  tint  of  interest.  "  Then  he 
does  n't  go  with  the  coach  to  Indian  Spring  to-day  ? " 

"  No  ;  why  ? " 

"  I  thought  of  going  over  myself  to  get  the  Burnham 
girls  to  come  to  choir-meeting,"  replied  Miss  Nellie  care 
lessly,  "  and  he  might  have  been  company." 

"  He  'd  go  now  if  he  knew  you  were  going,"  said  her 
father ;  "  but  it 's  just  as  well  he  should  n't  be  needlessly 
encouraged.  I  rather  think  that  Sheriff  Dunn  is  a  little 
jealous  of  him.  By  the  way,  the  sheriff  is  much  better. 
I  called  to  cheer  him  up  to-day  "  (Mr.  Wynn  had  in  fact 
tumultuously  accelerated  the  sick  man's  pulse),  "  and  he 
talked  of  you,  as  usual.  In  fact,  he  said  he  had  only  two 
things  to  get  well  for.  One  was  to  catch  and  hang  that 
woman  Teresa,  who  shot  him ;  the  other  —  can't  you  guess 
the  other  ?  "  he  added  archly,  with  a  faint  suggestion  of 
his  other  manner. 

Miss  Nellie  coldly  could  not. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn's  archness  vanished.  "  Don't  be 
a  fool,"  he  said  dryly.  "  He  wants  to  marry  you,  and 
you  know  it." 

"  Most  of  the  men  here  do,"  responded  Miss  Nellie, 


1 1 8  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

without  the  least  trace  of  coquetry.  "  Is  the  wedding  or 
the  hanging  to  take  place  first,  or  together,  so  he  can  offi 
ciate  at  both  ? " 

"  His  share  in  the  Union  Ditch  is  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,"  continued  her  father;  "  and  if  he  isn't 
nominated  for  district  judge  this  fall,  he  's  bound  to  go  to 
the  legislature,  any  way.  I  don't  think  a  girl  with  your 
advantages  and  education  can  afford  to  throw  away  the 
chance  of  shining  in  Sacramento,  San  Francisco,  or,  in 
good  time,  perhaps  even  Washington." 

Miss  Nellie's  eyes  did  n-ot  reflect  entire  disapproval  of 
this  suggestion,  although  she  replied  with  something  of 
her  father's  practical  quality. 

"Mr.  Dunn  is  not  out  of  his  bed  yet,  and  they  say 
Teresa 's  got  away  to  Arizona,  so  there  is  n't  any  partic 
ular  hurry." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  see  here,  Nellie,  I  Ve  some  important 
news  for  you.  You  know  your  young  friend  of  the  Car 
quinez  Woods  —  Dorman,  the  botanist,  eh  ?  Well,  Brace 
knows  all  about  him.  And  what  do  you  think  he  is  ?  " 

Miss  Nellie  took  upon  herself  a  few  extra  degrees  of 
cold,  and  did  n't  know. 

"An  Injin  !  Yes,  an  out-and-out  Cherokee.  You  see 
he  calls  himself  Dorman  —  Low  Dorman.  That 's  only 
French  for  '  Sleeping  Water,'  his  Injin  name  — « Low 
Dorman.'  " 

"  You  mean  '  L'Eau  Dormante,'  "  said  Nellie. 

"  That 's  what  I  said.  The  chief  called  him  *  Sleeping 
Water '  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  one  of  them  French 
Canadian  trappers  translated  it  into  French  when  he 
brought  him  to  California  to  school.  But  he  's  an  Injin, 
sure.  No  wonder  he  prefers  to  live  in  the  woods." 

"Well?"  said  Nellie. 

"  Well,"  echoed  her  father  impatiently,  "  he  's  an  Injin, 
I  tell  you,  and  you  can't  of  course  have  anything  to  do 
with  him.  He  must  n't  come  here  again." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  119 

"  But  you  forget,"  said  Nellie  imperturbably,  "  that  it 
was  you  who  invited  him  here,  and  were  so  much  exer 
cised  over  him.  You  remember  you  introduced  him  to 
the  Bishop  and  those  Eastern  clergymen  as  a  magnificent 
specimen  of  a  young  Californian.  You  forget  what  an  oc 
casion  you  made  of  his  coming  to  church  on  Sunday,  and 
how  you  made  him  come  in  his  buckskin  shirt  and  walk 
down  the  street  with  you  after  service  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn  hurriedly. 

"And,"  continued  Nellie  carelessly,  "  how  you  made 
us  sing  out  of  the  same  book  '  Children  of  our  Father's 
Fold,'  and  how  you  preached  at  him  until  he  actually  got 
a  color !  " 

"Yes,"  said  her  father;  "  but  it  wasn't  known  then  he 
was  an  Injin,  and  they  are  frightfully  unpopular  with  those 
Southwestern  men  among  whom  we  labor.  Indeed,  I  am 
quite  convinced  that  when  Brace  said  'the  only  good 
Indian  was  a  dead  one  '  his  expression,  though  extrava 
gant,  perhaps,  really  voiced  the  sentiments  of  the  majority. 
It  would  be  only  kindness  to  the  unfortunate  creature  to 
warn  him  from  exposing  himself  to  their  rude  but  consci 
entious  antagonism." 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  better  tell  him,  then,  in  your  own 
popular  way,  which  they  all  seem  to  understand  so  well," 
responded  the  daughter.  Mr.  Wynn  cast  a  quick  glance 
at  her,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  irony  in  her  face  —  noth 
ing  but  a  half-bored  indifference  as  she  walked  toward  the 
window. 

"  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  coach-office,"  said  her  father, 
who  generally  gave  these  simple  paternal  duties  the  pro 
nounced  character  of  a  public  Christian  example. 

"  It 's  hardly  worth  while,"  replied  Miss  Nellie.  "  I  Ve 
to  stop  at  the  Watsons',  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  ask 
after  the  baby ;  so  I  shall  go  on  to  the  Crossing  and  pick 
up  the  coach  as  it  passes.  Good-by." 


I2O  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

Nevertheless,  as  soon  as  Nellie  had  departed,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Wynn  proceeded  to  the  coach-office,  and  publicly 
grasping  the  hand  of  Yuba  Bill,  the  driver,  commended 
his  daughter  to  his  care  in  the  name  of  the  universal 
brotherhood  of  man  and  the  Christian  fraternity.  Carried 
away  by  his  heartiness,  he  forgot  his  previous  caution,  and 
confided  to  the  expressman  Miss  Nellie's  regrets  that  she 
was  not  to  have  that  gentleman's  company.  The  result 
was  that  Miss  Nellie  found  the  coach  with  its  passengers 
awaiting  her  with  uplifted  hats  and  wreathed  smiles  at  the 
Crossing,  and  the  box-seat  (from  which  an  unfortunate 
stranger,  who  had  expensively  paid  for  it,  had  been  sum 
marily  ejected)  at  her  service  beside  Yuba  Bill,  who  had 
thrown  away  his  cigar  and  donned  a  new  pair  of  buckskin 
gloves  to  do  her  honor.  But  a  more  serious  result  to  the 
young  beauty  was  the  effect  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn's  con 
fidences  upon  the  impulsive  heart  of  Jack  Brace,  the  ex 
pressman.  It  has  been  already  intimated  that  it  was  his 
"  day  off."  Unable  to  summarily  reassume  his  usual  func 
tions  beside  the  driver  without  some  practical  reason,  and 
ashamed  to  go  so  palpably  as  a  mere  passenger,  he  was 
forced  to  let  the  coach  proceed  without  him.  Discomfited 
for  the  moment,  he  was  not,  however,  beaten.  He  had 
lost  the  blissful  journey  by  her  side,  which  would  have 
been  his  professional  right,  but  —  she  was  going  to  Indian 
Spring !  could  he  not  anticipate  her  there  ?  Might  they 
not  meet  in  the  most  accidental  manner  ?  And  what 
might  not  come  from  that  meeting  away  from  the  prying 
eyes  of  their  own  town?  Mr.  Brace  did  not  hesitate, 
but  saddling  his  fleet  Buckskin,  by  the  time  the  stage 
coach  had  passed  the  Crossing  in  the  high-road  he  had 
mounted  the  hill  and  was  dashing  along  the  "  cut-off  "  in 
the  same  direction,  a  full  mile  in  advance.  Arriving  at 
Indian  Spring,  he  left  his  horse  at  a  Mexican  posada  on 
the  confines  of  the  settlement,  and  from  the  piled  debris 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  121 

of  a  tunnel  excavation  awaited  the  slow  arrival  of  the 
coach.  On  mature  reflection  he  could  give  no  reason  why 
he  had  not  boldly  awaited  it  at  the  express  office,  except  a 
certain  bashful  consciousness  of  his  own  folly,  and  a  belief 
that  it  might  be  glaringly  apparent  to  the  bystanders. 
When  the  coach  arrived  and  he  had  overcome  this  con 
sciousness,  it  was  too  late.  Yuba  Bill  had  discharged  his 
passengers  for  Indian  Spring  and  driven  away.  Miss 
Nellie  was  in  the  settlement,  but  where  ?  As  time  passed 
he  became  more  desperate  and  bolder.  He  walked  reck 
lessly  up  and  down  the  main  street,  glancing  in  at  the  open 
doors  of  shops,  and  even  in  the  windows  of  private  dwell 
ings.  It  might  have  seemed  a  poor  compliment  to  Miss 
Nellie,  but  it  was  an  evidence  of  his  complete  preoccupa 
tion,  when  the  sight  of  a  female  face  at  a  window,  even 
though  it  was  plain  or  perhaps  painted,  caused  his  heart 
to  bound,  or  the  glancing  of  a  skirt  in  the  distance  quick 
ened  his  feet  and  his  pulses.  Had  Jack  contented  him 
self  with  remaining  at  Excelsior  he  might  have  vaguely 
regretted,  but  as  soon  become  as  vaguely  accustomed  to, 
Miss  Nellie's  absence.  But  it  was  not  until  his  hitherto 
quiet  and  passive  love  took  this  first  step  of  action  that  it 
fully  declared  itself.  When  he  had  made  the  tour  of  the 
town  a  dozen  times  unsuccessfully,  he  had  perfectly  made 
up  his  mind  that  marriage  with  Nellie  or  the  speedy  death 
of  several  people,  including  possibly  himself,  was  the 
only  alternative.  He  regretted  he  had  not  accompanied 
her  j  he  regretted  he  had  not  demanded  where  she  was 
going  ;  he  contemplated  a  course  of  future  action  that 
two  hours  ago  would  have  rilled  him  with  bashful  terror. 
There  was  clearly  but  one  thing  to  do  —  to  declare  his 
passion  the  instant  he  met  her,  and  return  with  her  to  Ex 
celsior  an  accepted  suitor,  or  not  to  return  at  all. 

Suddenly  he  was  vexatiously  conscious  of  hearing  his 
name  lazily  called,  and  looking  up  found  that  he  was  on 


122  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  interrogated  by  two  horse 
men. 

"  Got  down  to  walk,  and  the  coach  got  away  from  you, 
Jack,  eh  ? " 

A  little  ashamed  of  his  preoccupation,  Brace  stammered 
something  about  "collections."  He  did  not  recognize 
the  men,  but  his  own  face,  name,  and  business  were  fa 
miliar  to  everybody  for  fifty  miles  along  the  stage-road. 

"  Well,  you  can  settle  a  bet  for  us,  I  reckon.  Bill  Dacre 
thar  bet  me  five  dollars  and  the  drinks  that  a  young  gal 
we  met  at  the  edge  of  the  Carquinez  Woods,  dressed  in  a 
long  brown  duster  and  half  muffled  up  in  a  hood,  was  the 
daughter  of  Father  Wynn  of  Excelsior.  I  did  not  get  a 
fair  look  at  her,  but  it  stands  to  reason  that  a  high-toned 
young  lady  like  Nellie  Wynn  don't  go  trap'sing  along  the 
wood  like  a  Pike  County  tramp.  I  took  the  bet.  May  be 
you  know  if  she  's  here  or  in  Excelsior  ?  " 

Mr.  Brace  felt  himself  turning  pale  with  eagerness  and 
excitement.  But  the  near  prospect  of  seeing  her  presently 
gave  him  back  his  caution,  and  he  answered  truthfully 
that  he  had  left  her  in  Excelsior,  and  that  in  his  two  hours' 
sojourn  in  Indian  Spring  he  had  not  once  met  her. 
"  But,"  he  added,  with  a  Californian's  reverence  for  the 
sanctity  of  a  bet,  "  I  reckon  you  'd  better  make  it  a  stand 
off  for  twenty-four  hours,  and  I  '11  find  out  and  let  you 
know."  Which,  it  is  only  fair  to  say,  he  honestly  in 
tended  to  do. 

With  a  hurried  nod  of  parting,  he  continued  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  Woods.  When  he  had  satisfied  himself 
that  the  strangers  had  entered  the  settlement  and  would 
not  follow  him  for  further  explanation,  he  quickened  his 
pace.  In  half  an  hour  he  passed  between  two  of  the 
gigantic  sentinels  that  guarded  the  entrance  to  a  trail. 
Here  he  paused  to  collect  his  thoughts.  The  Woods  were 
vast  in  extent,  the  trail  dim  and  uncertain  —  at  times  ap- 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  123 

parently  breaking  off,  or  intersecting  another  trail  as  faint 
as  itself.  Believing  that  Miss  Nellie  had  diverged  from  the 
highway  only  as  a  momentary  excursion  into  the  shade, 
and  that  she  would  not  dare  to  penetrate  its  more  sombre 
and  unknown  recesses,  he  kept  within  sight  of  the  skirting 
plain.  By  degrees  the  sedate  influence  of  the  silent  vaults 
seemed  to  depress  him.  The  ardor  of  the  chase  began  to 
flag.  Under  the  calm  of  their  dim  roof  the  fever  of  his 
veins  began  to  subside  ;  his  pace  slackened ;  he  reasoned 
more  deliberately.  It  was  by  no  means  probable  that  the 
young  woman  in  a  brown  duster  was  Nellie ;  it  was  not 
her  habitual  traveling  dress  ;  it  was  not  like  her  to  walk 
unattended  in  the  road  ;  there  was  nothing  in  her  tastes 
and  habits  to  take  her  into  this  gloomy  forest,  allowing 
that  she  had  even  entered  it ;  and  on  this  absolute  ques 
tion  of  her  identity  the  two  witnesses  were  divided. 
He  stopped  irresolutely,  and  cast  a  last,  long,  half-despair 
ing  look  around  him.  Hitherto  he  had  given  that  part  of 
the  wood  nearest  the  plain  his  greatest  attention.  His 
glance  now  sought  its  darker  recesses.  Suddenly  he  be 
came  breathless.  Was  it  a  beam  of  sunlight  that  had 
pierced  the  groined  roof  above,  and  now  rested  against 
the  trunk  of  one  of  the  dimmer,  more  secluded  giants  ? 
No,  it  was  moving ;  even  as  he  gazed  it  slipped  away, 
glanced  against  another  tree,  passed  across  one  of  the 
vaulted  aisles,  and  then  was  lost  again.  Brief  as  was  the 
glimpse,  he  was  not  mistaken  —  it  was  the  figure  of  a 
woman. 

In  another  moment  he  was  on  her  track,  and  soon  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  reappear  at  a  lesser  distance. 
But  the  continual  intervention  of  the  massive  trunks 
made  the  chase  by  no  means  an  easy  one,  and  as  he  could 
not  keep  her  always  in  sight  he  was  unable  to  follow  or 
understand  the  one  intelligent  direction  which  she  seemed 
to  invariably  keep.  Nevertheless,  he  gained  upon  her 


124  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

breathlessly,  and,  thanks  to  the  bark-strewn  floor,  noise 
lessly.  He  was  near  enough  to  distinguish  and  recognize 
the  dress  she  wore,  a  pale  yellow,  that  he  had  admired 
when  he  first  saw  her.  It  was  Nellie,  unmistakably  j  if  it 
were  she  of  the  brown  duster,  she  had  discarded  it,  per 
haps  for  greater  freedom.  He  was  near  enough  to  call  out 
now,  but  a  sudden  nervous  timidity  overcame  him  ;  his 
lips  grew  dry.  What  should  he  say  to  her  ?  How  ac 
count  for  his  presence  ?  "  Miss  Nellie,  one  moment ! " 
he  gasped.  She  darted  forward  and  —  vanished. 

At  this  moment  he  was  not  more  than  a  dozen  yards 
from  her.  He  rushed  to  where  she  had  been  standing, 
but  her  disappearance  was  perfect  and  complete.  He 
made  a  circuit  of  the  group  of  trees  within  whose  radius 
she  had  last  appeared,  but  there  was  neither  trace  of  her, 
nor  suggestion  of  her  mode  of  escape.  He  called  aloud 
to  her ;  the  vacant  Woods  let  his  helpless  voice  die  in  their 
unresponsive  depths.  He  gazed  into  the  air  and  down  at 
the  bark-strewn  carpet  at  his  feet.  Like  most  of  his  voca 
tion,  he  was  sparing  of  speech,  and  epigrammatic  after  his 
fashion.  Comprehending  in  one  swift  but  despairing  flash 
of  intelligence  the  existence  of  some  fateful  power  beyond 
his  own  weak  endeavor,  he  accepted  its  logical  result  with 
characteristic  grimness,  threw  his  hat  upon  the  ground, 
put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  said  — 

"Well,  I'md d!" 


CHAPTER   III. 

OUT  of  compliment  to  Miss  Nellie  Wynn,  Yuba  Bill, 
on  reaching  Indian  Spring,  had  made  a  slight  detour  to 
enable  him  to  ostentatiously  set  down  his  fair  passenger 
before  the  door  of  the  Burnhams.  When  it  had  closed 
on  the  admiring  eyes  of  the  passengers  and  the  coach 
had  rattled  away,  Miss  Nellie,  without  any  undue  haste 
or  apparent  change  in  her  usual  quiet  demeanor,  man 
aged,  however,  to  dispatch  her  business  promptly,  and, 
leaving  an  impression  that  she  would  call  again  before 
her  return  to  Excelsior,  parted  from  her  friends,  and 
slipped  away  through  a  side  street,  to  the  General  Fur 
nishing  Store  of  Indian  Spring.  In  passing  this  empo 
rium,  Miss  Nellie's  quick  eye  had  discovered  a  cheap 
brown  linen  duster  hanging  in  its  window.  To  purchase 
it,  and  put  it  over  her  delicate  cambric  dress,  albeit  with 
a  shivering  sense  that  she  looked  like  a  badly-folded 
brown-paper  parcel,  did  not  take  long.  As  she  left  the 
shop  it  was  with  mixed  emotions  of  chagrin  and  security 
that  she  noticed  that  her  passage  through  the  settlement 
no  longer  turned  the  heads  of  its  male  inhabitants.  She 
reached  the  outskirts  of  Indian  Spring  and  the  high-road 
at  about  the  time  Mr.  Brace  had  begun  his  fruitless  patrol 
of  the  main  street.  Far  in  the  distance  a  faint  olive-green 
table  mountain  seemed  to  rise  abruptly  from  the  plain. 
It  was  the  Carquinez  Woods.  Gathering  her  spotless 
skirts  beneath  her  extemporized  brown  domino,  she  set 
out  briskly  towards  them. 

But  her  progress  was  scarcely  free  or  exhilarating. 
She  was  not  accustomed  to  walking  in  a  country  where 


126  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"buggy-riding"  was  considered  the  only  genteel  young- 
lady-like  mode  of  progression,  and  its  regular  provision 
the  expected  courtesy  of  mankind.  Always  fastidiously 
booted,  her  low-quartered  shoes  were  charming  to  the 
eye,  but  hardly  adapted  to  the  dust  and  inequalities  of 
the  high-road.  It  was  true  that  she  had  thought  of  buy 
ing  a  coarser  pair  at  Indian  Spring,  but  once  face  to  face 
with  their  uncompromising  ugliness,  she  had  faltered 
and  fled.  The  sun  was  unmistakably  hot,  but  her  par 
asol  was  too  well  known  and  offered  too  violent  a  con 
trast  to  the  duster  for  practical  use.  Once  she  stopped 
with  an  exclamation  of  annoyance,  hesitated,  and  looked 
back.  In  half  an  hour  she  had  twice  lost  her  shoe  and 
her  temper  ;  a  pink  flush  took  possession  of  her  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  were  bright  with  suppressed  rage.  Dust 
began  to  form  grimy  circles  around  their  orbits ;  with 
cat-like  shivers  she  even  felt  it  pervade  the  roots  of  her 
blonde  hair.  Gradually  her  breath  grew  more  rapid  and 
hysterical,  her  smarting  eyes  became  humid,  and  at  last, 
encountering  two  observant  horsemen  in  the  road,  she 
turned  and  fled,  until,  reaching  the  wood,  she  began  to 
cry. 

Nevertheless  she  waited  for  the  two  horsemen  to  pass, 
to  satisfy  herself  that  she  was  not  followed ;  then  pushed 
on  vaguely,  until  she  reached  a  fallen  tree,  where,  with  a 
gesture  of  disgust,  she  tore  off  her  hapless  duster  and 
flung  it  on  the  ground.  She  then  sat  down  sobbing,  but 
after  a  moment  dried  her  eyes  hurriedly  and  started  to 
her  feet.  A  few  paces  distant,  erect,  noiseless,  with  out 
stretched  hand,  the  young  solitary  of  the  Carquinez  Woods 
advanced  towards  her.  His  hand  had  almost  touched 
hers,  when  he  stopped. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  he  asked  gravely. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said,  turning  half  away,  and  searching 
the  ground  with  her  eyes,  as  if  she  had  lost  something. 
"  Only  I  must  be  going  back  now." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  127 

"You  shall  go  back  at  once,  if  you  wish  it,"  he  said, 
flushing  slightly.  "  But  you  have  been  crying ;  why  ? " 

Frank  as  Miss  Nellie  wished  to  be,  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  say  that  her  feet  hurt  her,  and  the  dust  and 
heat  were  ruining  her  complexion.  It  was  therefore  with 
a  half-confident  belief  that  her  troubles  were  really  of  a 
moral  quality  that  she  answered,  "  Nothing  —  nothing, 
but  —  but  —  it's  wrong  to  come  here." 

"  But  you  did  not  think  it  was  wrong  when  you  agreed 
to  come,  at  our  last  meeting,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
that  persistent  logic  which  exasperates  the  inconsequent 
feminine  mind.  "  It  cannot  be  any  more  wrong  to-day." 

"  But  it  was  not  so  far  off,"  murmured  the  young  girl, 
without  looking  up. 

"  Oh,  the  distance  makes  it  more  improper,  then,"  he 
said  abstractedly  ;  but  after  a  moment's  contemplation 
of  her  half-averted  face,  he  asked  gravely,  "  Has  any  one 
talked  to  you  about  me  ?  " 

Ten  minutes  before,  Nellie  had  been  burning  to  un 
burden  herself  of  her  father's  warning,  but  now  she  felt 
she  would  not.  "  I  wish  you  would  n't  call  yourself  Low," 
she  said  at  last. 

"But  it's  my  name,"  he  replied  quietly. 

"  Nonsense  !  It 's  only  a  stupid  translation  of  a  stupid 
nickname.  They  might  as  well  call  you  '  Water '  at 
once." 

"  But  you  said  you  liked  it." 

"Well,  so  I  do.  But  don't  you  see  —  I  —  oh  dear! 
you  don't  understand." 

Low  did  not  reply,  but  turned  his  head  with  resigned 
gravity  towards  the  deeper  woods.  Grasping  the  barrel 
of  his  rifle  with  his  left  hand,  he  threw  his  right  arm 
across  his  left  wrist  and  leaned  slightly  upon  it  with  the 
habitual  ease  of  a  Western  hunter  —  doubly  picturesque 
in  his  own  lithe,  youthful  symmetry.  Miss  Nellie  looked 


128  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

at  him  from  under  her  eyelids,  and  then  half  defiantly 
/  raised  her  head  and  her  dark  lashes.  Gradually  an  al 
most  magical  change  came  over  her  features ;  her  eyes 
grew  larger  and  more  and  more  yearning,  until  they 
seemed  to  draw  and  absorb  in  their  liquid  depths  the 
figure  of  the  young  man  before  her  ;  her  cold  face  broke 
into  an  ecstasy  of  light  and  color;  her  humid  lips  parted 
in  a  bright,  welcoming  smile,  until,  with  an  irresistible 
impulse,  she  arose,  and  throwing  back  her  head  stretched 
towards  him  two  hands  full  of  vague  and  trembling  pas 
sion. 

In  another  moment  he  had  seized  them,  kissed  them, 
and,  as  he  drew  her  closer  to  his  embrace,  felt  them 
tighten  around  his  neck.  "  But  what  name  do  you  wish 
to  call  me  ? "  he  asked,  looking  down  into  her  eyes. 

Miss  Nellie  murmured  something  confidentially  to  the 
*  third  button  of  his  hunting-shirt.  "  But  that,"  he  replied, 
with  a  faint  smile,  "  that  would  n't  be  any  more  practical, 
and  you  would  n't  want  others  to  call  me  dar —  "  Her 
fingers  loosened  around  his  neck,  she  drew  her  head  back, 
and  a  singular  expression  passed  over  her  face,  which  to 
any  calmer  observer  than  a  lover  would  have  seemed, 
however,  to  indicate  more  curiosity  than  jealousy. 

"  Who  else  does  call  you  so  ?  "  she  added  earnestly. 
"  How  many,  for  instance  ?  " 

Low's  reply  was  addressed  not  to  her  ear,  but  her  lips. 
She  did  not  avoid  it,  but  added,  "  And  do  you  kiss  them 
all  like  that  ? "  Taking  him  by  the  shoulders,  she  held  him 
a  little  way  from  her,  and  gazed  at  him  from  head  to  foot. 
Then  drawing  him  again  to  her  embrace,  she  said,  "  I 
don't  care,  at  least  no  woman  has  kissed  you  like  that." 
Happy,  dazzled,  and  embarrassed,  he  was  beginning  to 
stammer  the  truthful  protestation  that  rose  to  his  lips, 
but  she  stopped  him :  "  No,  don't  protest !  say  nothing ! 
Let  me  love  you  —  that  is  all.  It  is  enough."  He  would 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  129 

have  caught  her  in  his  arms  again,  but  she  drew  back. 
"  We  are  near  the  road,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Come  !  you 
promised  to  show  me  where  you  camped.  Let  us  make 
the  most  of  our  holiday.  In  an  hour  I  must  leave  the 
woods." 

"  But  I  shall  accompany  you,  dearest." 

"  No,  I  must  go  as  I  came  —  alone." 

"  But  Nellie  "  — 

"  I  tell  you  no,"  she  said,  with  an  almost  harsh  prac 
tical  decision,  incompatible  with  her  previous  abandon 
ment.  "  We  might  be  seen  together." 

"  Well,  suppose  we  are  ;  we  must  be  seen  together 
eventually,"  he  remonstrated. 

The  young  girl  made  an  involuntary  gesture  of  impa 
tient  negation,  but  checked  herself.  "  Don't  let  us  talk  of 
that  now.  Come,  while  I  am  here  under  your  own  roof  " 

—  she  pointed  to  the  high  interlaced  boughs  above  them 

—  "you  must  be  hospitable.     Show  me  your  home  ;  tell 
me,  is  n't  it  a  little  gloomy  sometimes  ?  " 

"  It  never  has  been  ;  I  never  thought  it  would  be  until 
the  moment  you  leave  it  to-day." 

She  pressed  his  hand  briefly  and  in  a  half-perfunctory 
way,  as  if  her  vanity  had  accepted  and  dismissed  the  com 
pliment.  "  Take  me  somewhere,"  she  said  inquisitively, 
"  where  you  stay  most ;  I  do  not  seem  to  see  you  here" 
she  added,  looking  around  her  with  a  slight  shiver.  "  It 
is  so  big  and  so  high.  Have  you  no  place  where  you  eat 
and  rest  and  sleep  ?  " 

"  Except  in  the  rainy  season,  I  camp  all  over  the  place 

—  at  any  spot  where  I  may  have  been  shooting  or  collect 
ing." 

"  Collecting?  "  queried  Nellie. 

"  Yes  ;  with  the  herbarium,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nellie  dubiously.     "  But  you  told  me  once 

—  the  first  time  we   ever  talked  together,"  she  added, 


130  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

looking  in  his  eyes  —  "something  about  your  keeping 
your  things  like  a  squirrel  in  a  tree.  Could  we  not  go 
there  ?  Is  there  not  room  for  us  to  sit  and  talk  without 
being  browbeaten  and  looked  down  upon  by  these  super 
cilious  trees  ? " 

"  It 's  too  far  away,"  said  Low  truthfully,  but  with  a 
somewhat  pronounced  emphasis,  "  much  too  far  for  you 
just  now ;  and  it  lies  on  another  trail  that  enters  the  wood 
beyond.  But  come,  I  will  show  you  a  spring  known  only 
to  myself,  the  wood  ducks,  and  the  squirrels.  I  dis 
covered  it  the  first  day  I  saw  you,  and  gave  it  your  name. 
But  you  shall  christen  it  yourself.  It  will  be  all  yours, 
and  yours  alone,  for  it  is  so  hidden  and  secluded  that  I 
defy  any  feet  but  my  own  or  whoso  shall  keep  step  with 
mine  to  find  it.  Shall  that  foot  be  yours,  Nellie  ?  " 

Her  face  beamed  with  a  bright  assent.  "  It  may  be 
difficult  to  track  it  from  here,"  he  said,  "  but  stand  where 
you  are  a  moment,  and  don't  move,  rustle,  nor  agitate  the 
air  in  any  way.  The  woods  are  still  now."  He  turned 
at  right  angles  with  the  trail,  moved  a  few  paces  into  the 
ferns  and  underbrush,  and  then  stopped  with  his  finger 
on  his  lips.  For  an  instant  both  remained  motionless ; 
then,  with  his  intent  face  bent  forward  and  both  arms 
extended,  he  began  to  sink  slowly  upon  one  knee  and 
one  side,  inclining  his  body  with  a  gentle,  perfectly- 
graduated  movement  until  his  ear  almost  touched  the 
ground.  Nellie  watched  his  graceful  figure  breathlessly, 
until,  like  a  bow  unbent,  he  stood  suddenly  erect  again, 
and  beckoned  to  her  without  changing  the  direction  of 
his  face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"All  right;  I  have  found  it,"  he  continued,  moving  for 
ward  without  turning  his  head. 

"But  how?  What  did  you  kneel  for?"  He  did  not 
reply,  but  taking  her  hand  in  his  continued  to  move 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  131 

slowly  on  through  the  underbrush,  as  if  obeying  some 
magnetic  attraction.  "  How  did  you  find  it  ? "  again 
asked  the  half-awed  girl,  her  voice  unconsciously  falling 
to  a  whisper.  Still  silent,  Low  kept  his  rigid  face  and 
forward  tread  for  twenty  yards  further  ;  then  he  stopped 
and  released  the  girl's  half-impatient  hand.  "  How  did 
you  find  it  ? "  she  repeated  sharply. 

"  With  my  ears  and  nose,"  replied  Low  gravely. 

"  With  your  nose  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  smelt  it." 

Still  fresh  with  the  memory  of  his  picturesque  attitude, 
the  young  man's  reply  seemed  to  involve  something  more 
irritating  to  her  feelings  than  even  that  absurd  anti-climax. 
She  looked  at  him  coldly  and  critically,  and  appeared  to 
hesitate  whether  to  proceed.  "  Is  it  far  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Not  more  than  ten  minutes  now,  as  I  shall  go." 

"  And  you  won't  have  to  smell  your  way  again  ? " 

"  No  ;  it  is  quite  plain  now,"  he  answered  seriously, 
the  young  girl's  sarcasm  slipping  harmlessly  from  his 
Indian  stolidity.  "  Don't  you  smell  it  yourself  ?  " 

But  Miss  Nellie's  thin,  cold  nostrils  refused  to  take  that 
vulgar  interest. 

"  Nor  hear  it  ?     Listen  !  " 

"You  forget  I  suffer  the  misfortune  of  having  been 
brought  up  under  a  roof,"  she  replied  coldly. 

"  That 's  true,"  repeated  Low,  in  all  seriousness  ;  "it 's 
not  your  fault.  But  do  you  know,  I  sometimes  think  I  am 
peculiarly  sensitive  to  water;  I  feel  it  miles  away.  At 
night,  though  I  may  not  see  it  or  even  know  where  it  is, 
1  am  conscious  of  it.  It  is  company  to  me  when  I  am 
alone,  and  I  seem  to  hear  it  in  my  dreams.  There  is  no 
music  as  sweet  to  me  as  its  song.  When  you  sang  with 
me  that  day  in  church,  I  seemed  to  hear  it  ripple  in  your 
voice.  It  says  to  me  more  than  the  birds  do,  more  than 
the  rarest  plants  I  find.  It  seems  to  live  with  me  and  for 


132  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

me.  It  is  my  earliest  recollection  ;  I  know  it  will  be  my 
last,  for  I  shall  die  in  its  embrace.  Do  you  think,  Nellie," 
he  continued,  stopping  short  and  gazing  earnestly  in  her 
face  —  "  do  you  think  that  the  chiefs  knew  this  when 
they  called  me  <  Sleeping  Water  '  ?  " 

To  Miss  Nellie's  several  gifts  I  fear  the  gods  had  not 
added  poetry.  A  slight  knowledge  of  English  verse  of  a 
select  character,  unfortunately,  did  not  assist  her  in  the  in 
terpretation  of  the  young  man's  speech,  nor  relieve  her 
from  the  momentary  feeling  that  he  was  at  times  deficient 
in  intellect.  She  preferred,  however,  to  take  a  personal 
view  of  the  question,  and  expressed  her  sarcastic  regret 
that  she  had  not  known  before  that  she  had  been  in 
debted  to  the  great  flume  and  ditch  at  Excelsior  for  the 
pleasure  of  his  acquaintance.  This  pert  remark  occa 
sioned  some  explanation,  which  ended  in  the  girl's  accept 
ing  a  kiss  in  lieu  of  more  logical  argument.  Nevertheless, 
she  was  still  conscious  of  an  inward  irritation  —  always 
distinct  from  her  singular  and  perfectly  material  passion  — 
which  found  vent  as  the  difficulties  of  their  undeviating 
progress  through  the  underbrush  increased.  At  last  she 
lost  her  shoe  again,  and  stopped  short.  "  It 's  a  pity  your 
Indian  friends  did  not  christen  you  'Wild  Mustard  '  or 
*  Clover,'  "  she  said  satirically,  "  that  you  might  have 
had  some  sympathies  and  longings  for  the  open  fields  in 
stead  of  these  horrid  jungles !  I  know  we  will  not  get 
back  in  time." 

Unfortunately,  Low  accepted  this  speech  literally  and 
with  his  remorseless  gravity.  "  If  my  name  annoys  you,  I 
can  get  it  changed  by  the  legislature,  you  know,  and  I  can 
find  out  what  my  father's  name  was,  and  take  that.  My 
mother,  who  died  in  giving  me  birth,  was  the  daughter  of 
a  chief." 

"  Then  your  mother  was  really  an  Indian  ?  "  said  Nel 
lie,  "  and  you  are  "  —  She  stopped  short. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  133 

"  But  I  told  you  all  this  the  day  we  first  met,"  said 
Low,  with  grave  astonishment.  "  Don't  you  remember 
our  long  talk  coming  from  church  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Nellie,  coldly,  "you  didn't  tell  me."  But 
she  was  obliged  to  drop  her  eyes  before  the  unwavering, 
undeniable  truthfulness  of  his. 

"  You  have  forgotten,"  he  said  calmly  ;  "  but  it  is  only 
right  you  should  have  your  own  way  in  disposing  of  a 
name  that  I  have  cared  little  for ;  and  as  you  're  to  have 
a  share  of  it  "  — 

"Yes,  but  it's  getting  late,  and  if  we  are  not  going 
forward  "  —  interrupted  the  girl  impatiently. 

"  We  are  going  forward,"  said  Low  imperturbably  • 
"but  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  as  we  were  speaking  on  that 
subject "  (Nellie  looked  at  her  watch),  "  I  Ve  been  of 
fered  the  place  of  botanist  and  naturalist  in  Professor 
Grant's  survey  of  Mount  Shasta,  and  if  I  take  it  —  why 
when  I  come  back,  darling  —  well  "  — 

"  But  you  're  not  going  just  yet,"  broke  in  Nellie,  with 
a  new  expression  in  her  face. 

"  No." 

"Then  we  need  not  talk  of  it  now,"  she  said  with  ani 
mation. 

Her  sudden  vivacity  relieved  him.  "  I  see  what's  the 
matter,"  he  said  gently,  looking  down  at  her  feet,  "  these 
little  shoes  were  not  made  to  keep  step  with  a  moccasin. 
We  must  try  another  way."  He  stooped  as  if  to  secure 
the  erring  buskin,  but  suddenly  lifted  her  like  a  child  to 
his  shoulder.  "  There,"  he  continued,  placing  her  arm 
around  his  neck,  "  you  are  clear  of  the  ferns  and  brambles 
now,  and  we  can  go  on.  Are  you  comfortable  ?  "  He 
looked  up,  read  her  answer  in  her  burning  eyes  and  the 
warm  lips  pressed  to  his  forehead  at  the  roots  of  his 
straight  dark  hair,  and  again  moved  onward  as  in  a  mes 
meric  dream.  But  he  did  not  swerve  from  his  direct 


134  IH  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

course,  and  with  a  final  dash  through  the  undergrowth 
parted  the  leafy  curtain  before  the  spring. 

At  first  the  young  girl  was  dazzled  by  the  strong  light 
that  came  from  a  rent  in  the  interwoven  arches  of  the 
wood.  The  breach  had  been  caused  by  the  huge  bulk 
of  one  of  the  great  giants  that  had  half  fallen,  and  was 
lying  at  a  steep  angle  against  one  of  its  mightiest  brethren, 
having  borne  down  a  lesser  tree  in  the  arc  of  its  down 
ward  path.  Two  of  the  roots,  as  large  as  younger  trees, 
tossed  their  blackened  and  bare  limbs  high  in  the  air. 
The  spring  —  the  insignificant  cause  of  this  vast  disrup 
tion  —  gurgled,  flashed,  and  sparkled  at  the  base ;  the 
limpid  baby  fingers  that  had  laid  bare  the  foundations  of 
that  fallen  column  played  with  the  still  clinging  rootlets, 
laved  the  fractured  and  twisted  limbs,  and,  widening, 
filled  with  sleeping  water  the  graves  from  which  they  had 
been  torn. 

"  It  had  been  going  on  for  years,  down  there,"  said 
Low,  pointing  to  a  cavity  from  which  the  fresh  water  now 
slowly  welled,  "  but  it  had  been  quickened  by  the  rising 
of  the  subterranean  springs  and  rivers  which  al ways %  oc 
curs  at  a  certain  stage  of  the  dry  season.  I  remember 
that  on  that  very  night  —  for  it  happened  a  little  after 
midnight,  when  all  sounds  are  more  audible  —  I  was 
troubled  and  oppressed  in  my  sleep  by  what  you  would 
call  a  nightmare;  a  feeling  as  if  I  was  kept  down  by 
bonds  and  pinions  that  I  longed  to  break.  And  then  I 
heard  a  crash  in  this  direction,  and  the  first  streak  of 
morning  brought  me  the  sound  and  scent  of  water.  Six 
months  afterwards  I  chanced  to  find  my  way  here,  as  I 
told  you,  and  gave  it  your  name.  I  did  not  dream  that  I 
should  ever  stand  beside  it  with  you,  and  have  you 
christen  it  yourself." 

He  unloosed  the  cup  from  his  flask,  and  filling  it  at 
the  spring  handed  it  to  her.  But  the  young  girl  leant 


In  the  Carquinez   Wood.  135 

over  the  pool,  and  pouring  the  water  idly  back  said,  "  I  'd 
rather  put  my  feet  in  it.  May  n't  I  ?  " 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said  wonderingly. 

"  My  feet  are  so  hot  and  dusty.  The  water  looks  de- 
liciously  cool.  May  I  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

He  turned  away  as  Nellie,  with  apparent  unconscious 
ness,  seated  herself  on  the  bank,  and  removed  her  shoes 
and  stockings.  When  she  had  dabbled  her  feet  a  few 
moments  in  the  pool,  she  said  over  her  shoulder  — 

"  We  can  talk  just  as  well,  can't  we  ? " 

"  Certainly." 

"Well,  then,  why  didn't  you  come  to  church  more 
often,  and  why  did  n't  you  think  of  telling  father  that  you 
were  convicted  of  sin  and  wanted  to  be  baptized  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  hesitated  the  young  man. 

"  Well,  you  lost  the  chance  of  having  father  convert 
you,  baptise  you,  and  take  you  into  full  church  fellow 
ship." 

"  I  never  thought,"  —  he  began. 

"  You  never  thought.     Are  n't  you  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  He  supposes  so  !  Have  you  no  convictions  —  no 
professions  ? " 

"  But,  Nellie,  I  never  thought  that  you  "  — 

"  Never  thought  that  I  —  what  ?  Do  you  think  that  I 
could  ever  be  anything  to  a  man  who  did  not  believe  in 
justification  by  faith,  or  in  the  covenant  of  church  fellow 
ship  ?  Do  you  think  father  would  let  me  ?  " 

In  his  eagerness  to  defend  himself  he  stepped  to  her 
side.  But  seeing  her  little  feet  shining  through  the  dark 
water,  like  outcroppings  of  delicately  veined  quartz,  he 
stopped  embarrassed.  Miss  Nellie,  however,  leaped  to 
one  foot,  and,  shaking  the  other  over  the  pool,  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder  to  steady  herself.  "  You  have  n't 


136  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

got  a  towel  —  or,"  she  said  dubiously,  looking  at  her 
small  handkerchief,  "  anything  to  dry  them  on  ?  " 

But  Low  did  not,  as  she  perhaps  expected,  offer  his 
own  handkerchief. 

"  If  you  take  a  bath  after  our  fashion,"  he  said  gravely, 
"  you  must  learn  to  dry  yourself  after  our  fashion." 

Lifting  her  again  lightly  in  his  arms,  he  carried  her  a 
few  steps  to  the  sunny  opening,  and  bade  her  bury  her 
feet  in  the  dried  mosses  and  baked  withered  grasses  that 
were  bleaching  in  a  hollow.  The  young  girl  uttered  a 
cry  of  childish  delight,  as  the  soft  ciliated  fibres  touched 
her  sensitive  skin. 

"  It  is  healing,  too,"  continued  Low ;  "  a  moccasin 
filled  with  it  after  a  day  on  the  trail  makes  you  all  right 
again." 

But  Miss  Nellie  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something 
else. 

"Is  that  the  way  the  squaws  bathe  and  dry  them 
selves  ? " 

"  I  don't  know ;  you  forget  I  was  a  boy  when  I  left 
them." 

"  And  you  're  sure  you  never  knew  any  ?  " 

"None." 

The  young  girl  seemed  to  derive  some  satisfaction  in 
moving  her  feet  up  and  down  for  several  minutes  among 
the  grasses  in  the  hollow ;  then,  after  a  pause,  said,  "  You 
are  quite  certain  I  am  the  first  woman  that  ever  touched 
this  spring  ? " 

"  Not  only  the  first  woman,  but  the  first  human  being, 
except  myself." 

"How  nice!"    v 

They  had  taken  each  other's  hands;  seated  side  by 
side,  they  leaned  against  a  curving  elastic  root  that  half 
supported,  half  encompassed  them.  The  girl's  capri 
cious,  fitful  manner  succumbed  as  before  to  the  near  con- 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  137 

tact  of  her  companion.  Looking  into  her  eyes,  Low  fell 
into  a  sweet,  selfish  lover's  monologue,  descriptive  of  his 
past  and  present  feelings  towards  her,  which  she  accepted 
with  a  heightened  color,  a  slight  exchange  of  sentiment, 
and  a  strange  curiosity.  The  sun  had  painted  their  half- 
embraced  silhouettes  against  the  slanting  tree-trunk, 
and  began  to  decline  unnoticed ;  the  ripple  of  the  water 
mingling  with  their  whispers  came  as  one  sound  to  the 
listening  ear ;  even  their  eloquent  silences  were  as  deep, 
and,  I  wot,  perhaps  as  dangerous,  as  the  darkened  pool 
that  filled  so  noiselessly  a  dozen  yards  away.  So  quiet 
were  they  that  the  tremor  of  invading  wings  once  or 
twice  shook  the  silence,  or  the  quick  scamper  of  fright 
ened  feet  rustled  the  dead  grass.  But  in  the  midst  of  a 
prolonged  stillness  the  young  man  sprang  up  so  suddenly 
that  Nellie  was  still  half  clinging  to  his  neck  as  he  stood 
erect.  "  Hush  !  "  he  whispered  ;  "  some  one  is  near  !  " 
.  He  disengaged  her  anxious  hands  gently,  leaped  upon 
the  slanting  tree-trunk,  and  running  half-way  up  its  incline 
with  the  agility  of  a  squirrel,  stretched  himself  at  full 
length  upon  it  and  listened. 

To  the  impatient,  inexplicably  startled  girl,  it  seemed  an 
age  before  he  rejoined  her. 

"  You  are  safe,"  he  said  ;  "  he  's  going  by  the  western 
trail  toward  Indian  Spring." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  she  asked,  biting  her  lips  with  a  poorly 
restrained  gesture  of  mortification  and  disappointment. 

"  Some  stranger,"  replied  Low. 

"  As  long  as  he  was  n't  coming  here,  why  did  you  give 
me  such  a  fright  ?  "  she  said  pettishly.  "  Are  you  ner 
vous  because  a  single  wayfarer  happens  to  stray  here  ?  " 

"  It  was  no  wayfarer,  for  he  tried  to  keep  near  the 
trail,"  said  Low.  "  He  was  a  stranger  to  the  wood,  for  he 
lost  his  way  every  now  and  then.  He  was  seeking  or  ex-' 
pecting  some  one,  for  he  stopped  frequently  and  waited  or 


138  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

listened.  He  had  not  walked  far,  for  he  wore  spurs  that 
tinkled  and  caught  in  the  brush ;  and  yet  he  had  not  rid 
den  here,  for  no  horse's  hoofs  passed  the  road  since  we 
have  been  here.  He  must  have  come  from  Indian 
Spring." 

"  And  you  heard  all  that  when  you  listened  just  now  ? " 
asked  Nellie  half  disdainfully. 

Impervious  to  her  incredulity,  Low  turned  his  calm  eyes 
on  her  face.  Certainly,  I  '11  bet  my  life  on  what  I  say. 
Tell  me :  do  you  know  anybody  in  Indian  Spring  who 
would  likely  spy  upon  you  ?  " 

The  young  girl  was  conscious  of  a  certain  ill-defined 
uneasiness,  but  answered,  "  No." 

"  Then  it  was  not  you  he  was  seeking,"  said  Low 
thoughtfully.  Miss  Nellie  had  not  time  to  notice  the 
emphasis,  for  he  added,  "  You  must  go  at  once,  and  lest 
you  have  been  followed  I  will  show  you  another  way  back 
to  Indian  Spring.  It  is  longer,  and  you  must  hasten. 
Take  your  shoes  and  stockings  with  you  until  we  are  out 
of  the  bush." 

He  raised  her  again  in  his  arms  and  strode  once  more 
out  through  the  covert  into  the  dim  aisles  of  the  wood. 
They  spoke  but  little;  she  could  not  help  feeling  that 
some  other  discordant  element,  affecting  him  more  strongly 
than  it  did  her,  had  come  between  them,  and  was  half 
perplexed  and  half  frightened.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes 
he  seated  her  upon  a  fallen  branch,  and  telling  her  he 
would  return  by  the  time  she  had  resumed  her  shoes  and 
stockings  glided  from  her  like  a  shadow.  She  would  have 
uttered  an  indignant  protest  at  being  left  alone,  but  he 
was  gone  ere  she  could  detain  him.  For  a  moment  she 
thought  she  hated  him.  But  when  she  had  mechanically 
shod  herself  once  more,  not  without  nervous  shivers  at 
fevery  falling  needle,  he  was  at  her  side. 

"Do  you  know  any  one  who  wears  a  frieze  coat  like 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  139 

that  ? "  he  asked,  handing  her  a  few  torn  shreds  of  wool 
affixed  to  a  splinter  of  bark. 

Miss  Nellie  instantly  recognized  the  material  of  a  cer 
tain  sporting-coat  worn  by  Mr.  Jack  Brace  on  festive  oc 
casions,  but  a  strange  yet  infallible  instinct  that  was  part 
of  her  nature  made  her  instantly  disclaim  all  knowledge 
of  it. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  Not  any  one  who  scents  himself  with  some  doctor's 
stuff  like  cologne  ? "  continued  Low,  with  the  disgust  of 
keen  olfactory  sensibilities. 

Again  Miss  Nellie  recognized  the  perfume  with  which 
the  gallant  expressman  was  wont  to  make  redolent  her 
little  parlor,  but  again  she  avowed  no  knowledge  of  its 
possessor.  "  Well,"  returned  Low,  with  some  disappoint 
ment,  "  such  a  man  has  been  here.  Be  on  your  guard. 
Let  us  go  at  once." 

She  required  no  urging  to  hasten  her  steps,  but  hurried 
breathlessly  at  his  side.  He  had  taken  a  new  trail  by 
which  they  left  the  wood  at  right  angles  with  the  highway, 
two  miles  away.  Following  an  almost  effaced  mule  track 
along  a  slight  depression  of  the  plain,  deep  enough,  how 
ever,  to  hide  them  from  view,  he  accompanied  her,  until, 
rising  to  the  level  again,  she  saw  they  were  beginning  to 
approach  the  highway  and  the  distant  roofs  of  Indian 
Spring.  "  Nobody  meeting  you  now,"  he  whispered, 
"  would  suspect  where  you  had  been.  Good  night !  until 
next  week  —  remember." 

The}'  pressed  each  other's  hands,  and  standing  on  the 
slight  ridge  outlined  against  the  paling  sky,  in  full  view  of 
the  highway,  parting  carelessly,  as  if  they  had  been 
chance  met  travellers.  But  Nellie  could  not  restrain  a 
parting  backward  glance  as  she  left  the  ridge.  Low  had 
descended  to  the  deserted  trail,  and  was  running  swiftly 
in  the  direction  of  the  Carquinez  Woods. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

TERESA  awoke  with  a  start.  It  was  day  already,  but 
how  far  advanced  the  even,  unchanging,  soft  twilight  of 
the  woods  gave  no  indication.  Her  companion  had  van 
ished,  and  to  her  bewildered  senses  so  had  the  camp-fire, 
even  to  its  embers  and  ashes.  Was  she  awake,  or  had 
she  wandered  away  unconsciously  in  the  night?  One 
glance  at  the  tree  above  her  dissipated  the  fancy.  There 
was  the  opening  of  her  quaint  retreat  and  the  hanging 
strips  of  bark,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  opposite  tree  lay  the 
carcass  of  the  bear.  It  had  been  skinned,  and,  as  Teresa 
thought  with  an  inward  shiver,  already  looked  half  its 
former  size. 

Not  yet  accustomed  to  the  fact  that  a  few  steps  in 
either  direction  around  the  circumference  of  those  great 
trunks  produced  the  sudden  appearance  or  disappearance 
of  any  figure,  Teresa  uttered  a  slight  scream  as  her  young 
companion  unexpectedly  stepped  to  her  side.  "  You  see 
a  change  here,"  he  said  ;  "  the  stamped-out  ashes  of  the 
camp-fire  lie  under  the  brush,"  and  he  pointed  to  some 
cleverly  scattered  boughs  and  strips  of  bark  which  com 
pletely  effaced  the  traces  of  last  night's  bivouac.  "We 
can't  afford  to  call  the  attention  of  any  packer  or  hunter 
who  might  straggle  this  way  to  this  particular  spot  and 
this  particular  tree;  the  more  naturally,"  he  added,  "as 
they  always  prefer  to  camp  over  an  old  fire."  Accepting 
this  explanation  meekly,  as  partly  a  reproach  for  her 
caprice  of  the  previous  night,  Teresa  hung  her  head. 

"  I  'm  very  sorry,"  she  said,  "  but  would  n't  that," 
pointing  to  the  carcass  of  the  bear,  "  have  made  them 
curious  ? " 


In  the  Carquinez  Woods.  141 

But  Low's  logic  was  relentless. 

"  By  this  time  there  would  have  been  little  left  to  excite 
curiosity  if  you  had  been  willing  to  leave  those  beasts  to 
their  work." 

"  I  'm  very  sorry,"  repeated  the  woman,  her  lips  quiver 
ing. 

"  They  are  the  scavengers  of  the  wood,"  he  continued 
in  a  lighter  tone  ;  "  if  you  stay  here  you  must  try  to  use 
them  to  keep  your  house  clean." 

Teresa  smiled  nervously. 

"  I  mean  that  they  shall  finish  their  work  to-night,"  he 
added,  "  and  I  shall  build  another  camp-fire  for  us  a  mile 
from  here  until  they  do." 

But  Teresa  caught  his  sleeve. 

"  No,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "  don't,  please,  for  me.  You 
must  not  take  the  trouble,  nor  the  risk.  Hear  me  ;  do, 
please.  I  can  bear  it,  I  will  bear  it  —  to-night.  I  would 
have  borne  it  last  night,  but  it  was  so  strange  —  and  "  — 
she  passed  her  hands  over  her  forehead  —  "I  think  I 
must  have  been  half  mad.  But  I  am  not  so  foolish 
now." 

She  seemed  so  broken  and  despondent  that  he  replied 
reassuringly :  "  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  that  I  should 
find  another  hiding-place  for  you,  until  I  can  dispose  of 
that  carcass,  so  that  it  will  not  draw  dogs  after  the  wolves, 
and  men  after  them.  Besides,  your  friend  the  sheriff  will 
probably  remember  the  bear  when  he  remembers  any 
thing,  and  try  to  get  on  its  track  again." 

"He's  a  conceited  fool,"  broke  in  Teresa  in  a  high 
voice,  with  a  slight  return  of  her  old  fury,  "  or  he  'd  have 
guessed  where  that  shot  came  from ;  and,"  she  added  in 
a  lower  tone,  looking  down  at  her  limp  and  nerveless 
fingers,  "he  wouldn't  have  let  a  poor,  weak,  nervous 
wretch  like  me  get  away." 

"  But  his  deputy  may  put  two  and  two  together,  and 
connect  your  escape  with  it." 


142  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

Teresa's  eyes  flashed.  "  It  would  be  like  the  dog,  just 
to  save  his  pride,  to  swear  it  was  an  ambush  of  my  friends, 
and  that  he  was  overpowered  by  numbers.  Oh  yes  !  I 
see  it  all ! "  she  almost  screamed,  lashing  herself  into  a 
rage  at  the  bare  contemplation  of  this  diminution  of  her 
glory.  "  That 's  the  dirty  lie  he  tells  everywhere,  and  is 
telling  now." 

She  stamped  her  feet  and  glanced  savagely  around,  as 
if  at  any  risk  to  proclaim  the  falsehood.  Low  turned  his 
impassive,  truthful  face  towards  her. 

"  Sheriff  Dunn,"  he  began  gravely,  "  is  a  politician,  and 
a  fool  when  he  takes  to  the  trail  as  a  hunter  of  man  or 
beast.  But  he  is  not  a  coward  nor  a  liar.  Your  chances 
would  be  better  if  he  were  —  if  he  laid  your  escape  to  an 
ambush  of  your  friends,  than  if  his  pride  held  you  alone 
responsible." 

"  If  he  's  such  a  good  man,  why  do  you  hesitate  ? "  she 
replied  bitterly.  "  Why  don't  you  give  me  up  at  once, 
and  do  a  service  to  one  of  your  friends  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  even  know  him,"  returned  Low,  opening  his 
clear  eyes  upon  her.  "  I  've  promised  to  hide  you  here, 
and  I  shall  hide  you  as  well  from  him  as  from  anybody." 

Teresa  did  not  reply,  but  suddenly  dropping  down  upon 
the  ground  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  began  to  sob 
convulsively.  Low  turned  impassively  away,  and  putting 
aside  the  bark  curtain  climbed  into  the  hollow  tree.  In 
a  few  moments  he  reappeared,  laden  with  provisions  and 
a  few  simple  cooking  utensils,  and  touched  her  lightly  on 
the  shoulder.  She  looked  up  timidly  ;  the  paroxysm  had 
passed,  but  her  lashes  yet  glittered. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  come  and  get  some  breakfast.  I 
find  you  have  eaten  nothing  since  you  have  been  here  — 
twenty-four  hours." 

"  I  did  n't  know  it,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile.  Then 
seeing  his  burden,  and  possessed  by  a  new  and  strange 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  143 

desire  for  some  menial  employment,  she  said  hurriedly, 
"  Let  me  carry  something  —  do,  please,"  and  even  tried 
to  disencumber  him. 

Half  annoyed,  Low  at  last  yielded,  and  handing  his 
rifle  said,  "  There,  then,  take  that  j  but  be  careful  —  it 's 
loaded ! " 

A  cruel  blush  burnt  the  woman's  face  to  the  roots  of 
her  hair  as  she  took  the  weapon  hesitatingly  in  her  hand. 

"  No  !  "  she  stammered,  hurriedly  lifting  her  shame- 
suffused  eyes  to  his  ;  "  no  !  no  !  " 

He  turned  away  with  an  impatience  which  showed  her 
how  completely  gratuitous  had  been  her  agitation  and  its 
significance,  and  said,  "  Well,  then  give  it  back  if  you 
are  afraid  of  it."  But  she  as  suddenly  declined  to  return 
it ;  and  shouldering  it  deftly,  took  her  place  by  his  side. 
Silently  they  moved  from  the  hollow  tree  together. 

During  their  walk  she  did  not  attempt  to  invade  his 
taciturnity.  Nevertheless  she  was  as  keenly  alive  and 
watchful  of  his  every  movement  and  gesture  as  if  she  had 
hung  enchanted  on  his  lips.  The  unerring  way  with 
which  he  pursued  a  viewless,  undeviating  path  through 
those  trackless  woods,  his  quick  reconnaissance  of  cer 
tain  trees  or  openings,  his  mute  inspection  of  some  al 
most  imperceptible  footprint  of  bird  or  beast,  his  critical 
examination  of  certain  plants  which  he  plucked  and  de 
posited  in  his  deerskin  haversack,  were  not  lost  on  the 
quick-witted  woman.  As  they  gradually  changed  the 
clear,  unencumbered  aisles  of  the  central  woods  for  a 
more  tangled  undergrowth,  Teresa  felt  that  subtle  ad 
miration  which  culminates  in  imitation,  and  simulating 
perfectly  the  step,  tread,  and  easy  swing  of  her  compan 
ion,  followed  so  accurately  his  lead  that  she  won  a  grati 
fied  exclamation  from  him  when  their  goal  was  reached  — 
a  broken,  blackened  shaft,  splintered  by  long-forgotten 
lightning,  in  the  centre  of  a  tangled  carpet  of  wood- 
clover. 


144  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  distanced  the  deputy,"  he  said 
cheerfully,  throwing  down  his  burden,  "  if  you  can  take 
the  hunting-path  like  that.  In  a  few  days,  if  you  stay 
here,  I  can  venture  to  trust  you  alone  for  a  little  pasear 
when  you  are  tired  of  the  tree." 

Teresa  looked  pleased,  but  busied  herself  with  arrange 
ments  for  the  breakfast,  while  he  gathered  the  fuel  for 
the  roaring  fire  which  soon  blazed  beside  the  shattered 
tree. 

Teresa's  breakfast  was  a  success.  It  was  a  revelation 
to  the  young  nomad,  whose  ascetic  habits  and  simple 
tastes  were  usually  content  with  the  most  primitive  forms 
of  frontier  cookery.  It  was  at  least  a  surprise  to  him  to 
know  that  without  extra  trouble  kneaded  flour,  water,  and 
saleratus  need  not  be  essentially  heavy ;  that  coffee  need 
not  be  boiled  with  sugar  to  the  consistency  of  syrup  ;  that 
even  that  rarest  delicacy,  small  shreds  of  venison  cov 
ered  with  ashes  and  broiled  upon  the  end  of  a  ramrod 
boldly  thrust  into  the  flames,  would  be  better  and  even 
more  expeditiously  cooked  upon  burning  coals.  Moved 
in  his  practical  nature,  he  was  surprised  to  find  this  cu 
rious  creature  of  disorganized  nerves  and  useless  im 
pulses  informed  with  an  intelligence  that  did  not  pre 
clude  the  welfare  of  humanity  or  the  existence  of  a  soul. 
He  respected  her  for  some  minutes,  until  in  the  midst  of 
a  culinary  triumph  a  big  tear  dropped  and  spluttered  in 
the  saucepan.  But  he  forgave  the  irrelevancy  by  taking 
no  notice  of  it,  and  by  doing  full  justice  to  that  particular 
dish. 

Nevertheless,  he  asked  several  questions  based  upon 
these  recently  discovered  qualities.  It  appeared  that  in 
the  old  days  of  her  wanderings  with  the  circus  troupe  she 
had  often  been  forced  to  undertake  this  nomadic  house 
keeping.  But  she  "  despised  it,"  had  never  done  it 
since,  and  always  had  refused  to  do  it  for  "  him  "  —  the 


In  the  Carquinez  Woods.  145 

personal  pronoun  referring,  as  Low  understood,  to  her 
lover,  Curson.  Not  caring  to  revive  these  memories 
further,  Low  briefly  concluded  :  — 

"I  don't  know  what  you  were,  or  what  you  may  be, 
but  from  what  I  see  of  you  you  Ve  got  all  the  sabe  of  a 
frontierman's  wife." 

She  stopped  and  looked  at  him,  and  then,  with  an  im 
pulse  of  impudence  that  only  half  concealed  a  more  seri 
ous  vanity,  asked,  "  Do  you  think  I  might  have  made  a 
good  squaw  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  quietly.  "  I  never  saw 
enough  of  them  to  know." 

Teresa,  confident  from  his  clear  eyes  that  he  spoke  the 
truth,  but  having  nothing  ready  to  follow  this  calm  dis 
posal  of  her  curiosity,  relapsed  into  silence. 

The  meal  finished,  Teresa  washed  their  scant  table 
equipage  in  a  little  spring  near  the  camp-fire ;  where, 
catching  sight  of  her  disordered  dress  and  collar,  she 
rapidly  threw  her  shawl,  after  the  national  fashion,  over 
her  shoulder  and  pinned  it  quickly.  Low  cached  the  re 
maining  provisions  and  the  few  cooking-utensils  under 
the  dead  embers  and  ashes,  obliterating  all  superficial 
indication  of  their  camp-fire  as  deftly  and  artistically  as 
he  had  before. 

"There  isn't  the  ghost  of  a  chance,"  he  said  in  expla 
nation,  "  that  anybody  but  you  or  I  will  set  foot  here  be 
fore  we  come  back  to  supper,  but  it 's  well  to  be  on  guard. 
I  '11  take  you  back  to  the  cabin  now,  though  I  bet  you 
could  find  your  way  there  as  well  as  I  can." 

On  their  way  back  Teresa  ran  ahead  of  her  companion, 
and  plucking  a  few  tiny  leaves  from  a  hidden  oasis  in  the 
bark-strewn  trail  brought  them  to  him. 

"  That 's  the  kind  you  're  looking  for,  is  n't  it  ? "  she 
said,  half  timidly. 

"  It  is,"  responded  Low,  in  gratified  surprise ;  "  but 
how  did  you  know  it  ?  You  're  not  a  botanist,  are  you  ?  " 


146  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"I  reckon  not,"  said  Teresa;  "but  you  picked  some 
when  we  came,  and  I  noticed  what  they  were." 

Here  was  indeed  another  revelation.  Low  stopped 
and  gazed  at  her  with  such  frank,  open,  utterly  unabashed 
curiosity  that  her  black  eyes  fell  before  him. 

"  And  do  you  think,"  he  asked  with  logical  delibera 
tion,  "  that  you  could  find  any  plant  from  another  I  should 
give  you  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Or  from  a  drawing  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  perhaps  even  if  you  described  it  to  me." 

A  half-confidential,  half  fraternal  silence  followed. 

"  I  tell  you  what.     I  Ve  got  a  book  "  — 

"  I  know  it,"  interrupted  Teresa  ;  "  full  of  these  things." 

"  Yes.     Do  you  think  you  could  "  — 

"  Of  course  I  could,"  broke  in  Teresa,  again. 

"  But  you  don't  know  what  I  mean,"  said  the  imper 
turbable  Low. 

"  Certainly  I  do.  Why,  find  'em,  and  preserve  all  the 
different  ones  for  you  to  write  under  —  that's  it,  isn't 
it?" 

Low  nodded  his  head,  gratified  but  not  entirely  con 
vinced  that  she  had  fully  estimated  the  magnitude  of  the 
endeavor. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Teresa,  in  the  feminine  postscriptum 
voice  which  it  would  seem  entered  even  the  philosophical 
calm  of  the  aisles  they  were  treading  —  "I  suppose  that 
she  places  great  value  on  them  ?  " 

Low  had  indeed  heard  Science  personified  before,  nor 
was  it  at  all  impossible  that  the  singular  woman  walking 
by  his  side  had  also.  He  said  "  Yes  ;  "  but  added,  in 
mental  reference  to  the  Linnean  Society  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  that  "  they  were  rather  particular  about  the  rarer 
kinds." 

Content  as  Teresa  had  been  to  believe  in  Low's  tender 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  147 

relations  with  some  favored  one  of  her  sex,  this  frank  con 
fession  of  a  plural  devotion  staggered  her. 

"  They  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"Yes,"  he  continued  calmly.  "The  Botanical  Society 
I  correspond  with  are  more  particular  than  the  Govern 
ment  Survey." 

"  Then  you  are  doing  this  for  a  society  ?  "  demanded 
Teresa,  with  a  stare. 

"  Certainly.  I  'm  making  a  collection  and  classifica 
tion  of  specimens.  I  intend  —  but  what  are  you  look 
ing  at  ? " 

Teresa  had  suddenly  turned  away.  Putting  his  hand 
lightly  on  her  shoulder,  the  young  man  brought  her  face 
to  face  with  him  again.  She  was  laughing. 

"  I  thought  all  the  while  it  was  for  a  girl,"  she  said  ; 
"  and  "  —  But  here  the'  mere  effort  of  speech  sent  her 
off  into  an  audible  and  genuine  outburst  of  laughter.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her  even  smile  other  than 
bitterly.  Characteristically  unconscious  of  any  humor  in 
her  error,  he  remained  unembarrassed.  But  he  could  not 
help  noticing  a  change  in  the  expression  of  her  face,  her 
voice,  and  even  her  intonation.  It  seemed  as  if  that  fit 
of  laughter  had  loosed  the  last  ties  that  bound  her  to  a 
self-imposed  character,  had  swept  away  the  last  barrier 
between  her  and  her  healthier  nature,  had  dispossessed  a 
painful  unreality,  and  relieved  the  morbid  tension  of  a 
purely  nervous  attitude.  The  change  in  her  utterance 
and  the  resumption  of  her  softer  Spanish  accent  seemed 
to  have  come  with  her  confidences,  and  Low  took  leave 
of  her  before  their  sylvan  cabin  with  a  comrade's  hearti 
ness,  and  a  complete  forgetfulness  that  her  voice  had  ever 
irritated  him. 

When  he  returned  that  afternoon  he  was  startled  to 
find  the  cabin  empty.  But  instead  of  bearing  any  ap 
pearance  of  disturbance  or  hurried  flight,  the  rude  interior 


148  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

seemed  to  have  magically  assumed  a  decorous  order  and 
cleanliness  unknown  before.  Fresh  bark  hid  the  in 
equalities  of  the  floor.  The  skins  and  blankets  were 
folded  in  the  corners,  the  rude  shelves  were  carefully  ar 
ranged,  even  a  few  tall  ferns  and  bright  but  quickly  fad 
ing  flowers  were  disposed  around  the  blackened  chimney. 
She  had  evidently  availed  herself  of  the  change  of  cloth 
ing  he  had  brought  her,  for  her  late  garments  were  hang 
ing  from  the  hastily-devised  wooden  pegs  driven  in  the 
wall.  The  young  man  gazed  around  him  with  mixed 
feelings  of  gratification  and  uneasiness.  His  presence 
had  been  dispossessed  in  a  single  hour ;  his  ten  years  of 
lonely  habitation  had  left  no  trace  that  this  woman  had 
not  effaced  with  a  deft  move  of  her  hand.  More  than 
that,  it  looked  as  if  she  had  always  occupied  it ;  and  it 
was  with  a  singular  conviction  that  even  when  she  should 
occupy  it  no  longer  it  would  only  revert  to  him  as  her 
dwelling  that  he  dropped  the  bark  shutters  athwart  the 
opening,  and  left  it  to  follow  her. 

To  his  quick  ear,  fine  eye,  and  abnormal  senses,  this 
was  easy  enough.  She  had  gone  in  the  direction  of  this 
morning's  camp.  Once  or  twice  he  paused  with  a  half, 
gesture  of  recognition  and  a  characteristic  "  Good  !  "  at 
the  place  where  she  had  stopped,  but  was  surprised  to 
find  that  her  main  course  had  been  as  direct  as  his  own. 
Deviating  from  this  direct  line  with  Indian  precaution  he 
first  made  a  circuit  of  the  camp,  and  approached  the 
shattered  trunk  from  the  opposite  direction.  He  conse 
quently  came  upon  Teresa  unawares.  But  the  momentary 
astonishment  and  embarrassment  were  his  alone. 

He  scarcely  recognized  her.  She  was  wearing  the 
garments  he  had  brought  her  the  day  before  —  a  certain 
discarded  gown  of  Miss  Nellie  Wynn,  which  he  had  hur 
riedly  begged  from  her  under  the  pretext  of  clothing  the 
wife  of  a  distressed  over-land  emigrant  then  on  the  way 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  149 

to  the  mines.  Although  he  had  satisfied  his  conscience 
with  the  intention  of  confessing  the  pious  fraud  to  her 
when  Teresa  was  gone  and  safe  from  pursuit,  it  was  not 
without  a  sense  of  remorse  that  he  witnessed  the  sacrile 
gious  transformation.  The  two  women  were  nearly  the 
same  height  and  size;  and  although  Teresa's  maturer 
figure  accented  the  outlines  more  strongly,  it  was  still  be 
coming  enough  to  increase  his  irritation. 

Of  this  becomingness  she  was  doubtless  unaware  at 
the  moment  that  he  surprised  her.  She  was  conscious  of 
having  "  a  change,"  and  this  had  emboldened  her  to  "  do 
her  hair"  and  otherwise  compose  herself.  After  their 
greeting  she  was  the  first  to  allude  to  the  dress,  regret 
ting  that  it  was  not  more  of  a  rough  disguise,  and  that, 
as  she  must  now  discard  the  national  habit  of  wearing 
her  shawl  "  manta  "  fashion  over  her  head,  she  wanted  a 
hat.  "  But  you  must  not,"  she  said,  "  borrow  any  more 
dresses  for  me  from  your  young  woman.  Buy  them  for 
me  at  some  shop.  They  left  me  enough  money  for  that." 
Low  gently  put  aside  the  few  pieces  of  gold  she  had 
drawn  from  her  pocket,  and  briefly  reminded  her  of  the 
suspicion  such  a  purchase  by  him  would  produce.  "  That 's 
so,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  Caramba  !  what  a  mule 
I  'm  becoming !  Ah  !  wait  a  moment.  I  have  it !  Buy 
me  a  common  felt  hat  —  a  man's  hat  —  as  if  for  yourself, 
as  a  change  to  that  animal,"  pointing  to  the  fox-tailed  cap 
he  wore  summer  and  winter,  "  and  I  '11  show  you  a  trick. 
I  have  n't  run  a  theatrical  wardrobe  for  nothing."  Nor 
had  she,  for  the  hat  thus  procured,  a  few  days  later,  be 
came,  by  the  aid  of  a  silk  handkerchief  and  a  bluejay's 
feather,  a  fascinating  "  pork  pie." 

Whatever  cause  of  annoyance  to  Low  still  lingered  in 
Teresa's  dress,  it  was  soon  forgotten  in  a  palpable  evi 
dence  of  Teresa's  value  as  botanical  assistant.  It  ap 
peared  that  during  the  afternoon  she  had  not  only  dupli- 


150  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

cated  his  specimens,  but  had  discovered  one  or  two  rare 
plants  as  yet  unclassified  in  the  flora  of  the  Carquinez 
Woods.  He  was  delighted,  and  in  turn,  over  the  camp- 
fire,  yielded  up  some  details  of  his  present  life  and.  some 
of  his  earlier  recollections. 

"  You  don't  remember  anything  of  your  father  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Did  he  ever  try  to  seek  you  out  ?  " 

"  No  !  Why  should  he  ?  "  replied  the  imperturbable 
Low  ;  "  he  was  not  a  Cherokee." 

"  No,  he  was  a  beast,"  responded  Teresa  promptly. 
"  And  your  mother  —  do  you  remember  her  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  she  died." 

"  You  think  she  died  ?     Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"No!" 

"  Then  you  're  another !  "  said  Teresa.  Notwithstand 
ing  this  frankness,  they  shook  hands  for  the  night ;  Teresa 
nestling  like  a  rabbit  in  a  hollow  by  the  side  of  the  camp- 
fire  ;  Low  with  his  feet  towards  it,  Indian-wise,  and  his 
head  and  shoulders  pillowed  on  his  haversack,  only  half 
distinguishable  in  the  darkness  beyond. 

With  such  trivial  details  three  uneventful  days  slipped 
by.  Their  retreat  was  undisturbed,  nor  could  Low  de 
tect,  by  the  least  evidence  to  his  acute  perceptive  faculties, 
that  any  intruding  feet  had  since  crossed  the  belt  of 
shade.  The  echoes  of  passing  events  at  Indian  Spring 
had  recorded  the  escape  of  Teresa  as  occurring  at  a  remote 
and  purely  imaginative  distance,  and  her  probable  direc 
tion  the  county  of  Yolo. 

"  Can  you  remember,"  he  one  day  asked  her,  "  what 
time  it  was  when  you  cut  the  riata  and  got  away  ?  " 

Teresa  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  eyes  and  temples. 

"  About  three,  I  reckon." 

"  And  you  were  here  at  seven  ;  you  could  have  covered 
some  ground  in  four  hours  ? " 

"  Perhaps  —  I  don't  know,"   she  said,  her  voice  taking 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  151 

up  its  old  quality  again.  "  Don't  ask  me  —  I  ran  all  the 
way." 

Her  face  was  quite  pale  as  she  removed  her  hands  from 
her  eyes,  and  her  breath  came  as  quickly  as  if  she  had 
just  finished  that  race  for  life. 

"  Then  you  think  I  am  safe  here  ?  "  she  added,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Perfectly  —  until  they  find  you  are  not  in  Yolo.  Then 
they'll  look  here.  And  that's  the  time  for  you  to  go 
there"  Teresa  smiled  timidly. 

"  It  will  take  them  some  time  to  search  Yolo  —  unless," 
she  added,  "  you  're  tired  of  me  here."  The  charming 
non  sequitur  did  not,  however,  seem  to  strike  the  young 
man.  "  I  've  got  time  yet  to  find  a  few  more  plants  for 
you,"  she  suggested. 

"  Oh,  certainly ! " 

"  And  give  you  a  few  more  lessons  in  cooking." 

"  Perhaps." 

The  conscientious  and  literal  Low  was  beginning  to 
doubt  if  she  were  really  practical.  How  otherwise  could 
she  trifle  with  such  a  situation  ? 

It  must  be  confessed  that  that  day  and  the  next  she  did 
trifle  with  it.  She  gave  herself  up  to  a  grave  and  delicious 
languor  that  seemed  to  flow  from  shadow  and  silence  and 
permeate  her  entire  being.  She  passed  hours  in  a  thought 
ful  repose  of  mind  and  spirit  that  seemed  to  fall  like  balm 
from  those  steadfast  guardians,  and  distill  their  gentle 
ether  in  her  soul ;  or  breathed  into  her  listening  ear  im 
munity  from  the  forgotten  past,  and  security  for  the  pres 
ent.  If  there  was  no  dream  of  the  future  in  this  calm, 
even  recurrence  of  placid  existence,  so  much  the  better. 
The  simple  details  of  each  succeeding  day,  the  quaint 
housekeeping,  the  brief  companionship  and  coming  and 
going  of  her  young  host  —  himself  at  best  a  crystallized 
personification  of  the  sedate  and  hospitable  woods  — 


152  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

satisfied  her  feeble  cravings.  She  no  longer  regretted  the 
inferior  passion  that  her  fears  had  obliged  her  to  take  the 
first  night  she  came ;  she  began  to  look  up  to  this  young 
man  —  so  much  younger  than  herself  —  without  knowing 
what  it  meant ;  it  was  not  until  she  found  that  this  atti 
tude  did  not  detract  from  his  picturesqueness  that  she 
discovered  herself  seeking  for  reasons  to  degrade  him 
from  this  seductive  eminence. 

A  week  had  elapsed  with  little  change.  On  two  days 
he  had  been  absent  all  day,  returning  only  in  time  to  sup 
in  the  hollow  tree,  which,  thanks  to  the  final  removal  of 
the  dead  bear  from  its  vicinity,  was  now  considered  a 
safer  retreat  than  the  exposed  camp-fire.  On  the  first  of 
these  occasions  she  received  him  with  some  preoccupation, 
paying  but  little  heed  to  the  scant  gossip  he  brought  from 
Indian  Spring,  and  retiring  early  under  the  plea  of  fatigue, 
that  he  might  seek  his  own  distant  camp-fire,  which,  thanks 
to  her  stronger  nerves  and  regained  courage,  she  no  longer 
required  so  near.  On  the  second  occasion,  he  found  her 
writing  a  letter  more  or  less  blotted  with  her  tears.  When 
it  was  finished,  she  begged  him  to  post  it  at  Indian 
Spring,  where  in  two  days  an  answer  would  be  returned, 
under  cover,  to  him. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  satisfied  then,"  she  added. 

"  Satisfied  with  what  ?  "  queried  the  young  man. 

"  You  '11  see,"  she  replied,  giving  him  her  cold  hand. 
"  Good-night." 

"  But  can't  you  tell  me  now  ? "  he  remonstrated,  retain 
ing  her  hand. 

"Wait  two  days  longer  —  it  isn't  much,"  was  all  she 
vouchsafed  to  answer. 

The  two  days  passed.  Their  former  confidence  and 
good  fellowship  were  fully  restored  when  the  morning 
came  on  which  he  was  to  bring  the  answer  from  the  post- 
office  at  Indian  Spring.  He  had  talked  again  of  his  fu- 


In  the  Carquinez  Woods.  153 

ture,  and  had  recorded  his  ambition  to  procure  the  ap 
pointment  of  naturalist  to  a  Government  Surveying  Ex 
pedition.  She  had  even  jocularly  proposed  to  dress 
herself  in  man's  attire  and  "  enlist "  as  his  assistant. 

"But  you  will  be  safe  with  your  friends,  I  hope,  by 
that  time,"  responded  Low. 

"  Safe  with  my  friends,"  she  repeated  in  a  lower  voice. 
"  Safe  with  my  friends  —  yes  !  "  An  awkward  silence 
followed ;  Teresa  broke  it  gayly  :  "  But  your  girl,  your 
sweetheart,  my  benefactor  —  will  she  let  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  told  her  yet,"  said  Low,  gravely,  "  but  I 
don't  see  why  she  should  object." 

"  Object,  indeed !  "  interrupted  Teresa  in  a  high  voice 
and  a  sudden  and  utterly  gratuitous  indignation;  "how 
should  she  ?  I  'd  like  to  see  her  do  it !  " 

She  accompanied  him  some  distance  to  the  intersection 
of  the  trail,  where  they  parted  in  good  spirits.  On  the 
dusty  plain  without  a  gale  was  blowing  that  rocked  the 
high  tree-tops  above  her,  but,  tempered  and  subdued,  en 
tered  the  low  aisles  with  a  fluttering  breath  of  morning 
and  a  sound  like  the  cooing  of  doves.  Never  had  the 
wood  before  shown  so  sweet  a  sense  of  security  from  the 
turmoil  and  tempest  of  the  world  beyond  ;  never  before 
had  an  intrusion  from  the  outer  life  —  even  in  the  shape 
of  a  letter  —  seemed  so  wicked  a  desecration.  Tempted 
by  the  solicitation  of  air  and  shade,  she  lingered,  with 
Low's  herbarium  slung  on  her  shoulder. 

A  strange  sensation,  like  a  shiver,  suddenly  passed 
across  her  nerves,  and  left  them  in  a  state  of  rigid  tension. 
With  every  sense  morbidly  acute,  with  every  faculty 
strained  to  its  utmost,  the  subtle  instincts  of  Low's  wood 
craft  transformed  and  possessed  her.  She  knew  it  now  ! 
A  new  element  was  in  the  wood  —  a  strange  being' —  an 
other  life  —  another  man  approaching !  She  did  not  even 
raise  her  head  to  look  about  her,  but  darted  with  the  pre- 


154  fn  the  Carquinez  Woods. 

cision  and  fleetness  of  an  arrow  in  the  direction  of  her 
tree.  But  her  feet  were  arrested,  her  limbs  paralyzed, 
her  very  existence  suspended,  by  the  sound  of  a  voice : 

"  Teresa !  " 

It  was  a  voice  that  had  rung  in  her  ears  for  the  last 
two  years  in  all  phases  of  intensity,  passion,  tenderness, 
and  anger;  a  voice  upon  whose  modulations,  rude  and 
unmusical  though  they  were,  her  heart  and  soul  had  hung 
in  transport  or  anguish.  But  it  was  a  chime  that  had 
rung  its  last  peal  to  her  senses  as  she  entered  the  Car 
quinez  Woods,  and  for  the  last  week  had  been  as  dead 
to  her  as  a  voice  from  the  grave.  It  was  the  voice  of 
her  lover  —  Dick  Curson  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  wind  was  blowing  towards  the  stranger,  so  that 
he  was  nearly  upon  her  when  Teresa  first  took  the  alarm. 
He  was  a  man  over  six  feet  in  height,  strongly  built,  with 
a  slight  tendency  to  a  roundness  of  bulk  which  suggested 
reserved  rather  than  impeded  energy.  His  thick  beard 
and  moustache  were  closely  cropped  around  a  small  and 
handsome  mouth  that  lisped  except  when  he  was  excited, 
but  always  kept  fellowship  with  his  blue  eyes  in  a  per 
petual  smile  of  half-cynical  good-humor.  His  dress  was 
superior  to  that  of  the  locality  \  his  general  expression 
that  of  a  man  of  the  world,  albeit  a  world  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  Sacramento,  and  Murderer's  Bar.  He  advanced 
towards  her  with  a  laugh  and  an  outstretched  hand. 

"  You  here  !  "  she  gasped,  drawing  back. 

Apparently  neither  surprised  nor  mortified  at  this  re 
ception,  he  answered  frankly,  "  Yeth.  You  did  n't  expect 
me,  I  know.  But  Doloreth  showed  me  the  letter  you 
wrote  her,  and  —  well  —  here  I  am,  ready  to  help  you, 
with  two  men  and  a  thpare  horthe  waiting  outside  the 
woodth  on  the  blind  trail." 

"  You  — you  —  here  ? "  she  only  repeated. 

—  Curson  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Yeth.  Of  courth 
you  never  expected  to  thee  me  again,  and  leatht  of  all 
here.  I  '11  admit  that ;  I  '11  thay  I  would  n't  if  I  'd  been 
in  your  plathe.  I  '11  go  further,  and  thay  you  did  n't 
want  to  thee  me  again  —  anywhere.  But  it  all  cometh  to 
the  thame  thing  ;  here  I  am ;  I  read  the  letter  you  wrote 
Doloreth.  I  read  how  you  were  hiding  here,  under 
Dunn'th  very  nothe,  with  his  whole  pothe  out,  cavorting 


156  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

round  and  barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree.  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  come  down  here  with  a  few  nathty  friends  of 
mine  and  cut  you  out  under  Dunn'th  nothe,  and  run  you 
over  into  Yuba —  that  'th  all." 

"  How  dared  she  show  you  my  letter — you  of  all  men  ? 
How  dared  she  ask  your  help  ?  "  continued  Teresa, 
fiercely. 

"  But  she  did  n't  athk  my  help,"  he  responded  coolly. 

"D d  if  I  don't  think  she  jutht  calculated  I'd  be 

glad  to  know  you  were  being  hunted  down  and  thtarving, 
that  I  might  put  Dunn  on  your  track." 

"  You  lie  !  "  said  Teresa,  furiously ;  "  she  was  my 
friend.  A  better  friend  than  those  who  professed  — 
more"  she  added,  with  a  contemptuous  drawing  away  of 
her  skirt  as  if  she  feared  Curson's  contamination. 

"  All  right.  Thettle  that  with  her  when  you  go  back," 
continued  Curson  philosophically.  "  We  can  talk  of  that 
on  the  way.  The  thing  now  ith  to  get  up  and  get  out  of 
thethe  woods.  Come  !  " 

Teresa's  only  reply  was  a  gesture  of  scorn. 

"  I  know  all  that,"  continued  Curson  half  soothingly, 
"  but  they  're  waiting." 

"  Let  them  wait.     I  shall  not  go." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"  Stay  here  —  till  the  wolves  eat  me." 

"  Teresa,  listen.  D it  all  —  Teresa !  —  Tita !  see 

here,"  he  said  with  sudden  energy.  "  I  swear  to  God 
it 's  all  right.  I  'm  willing  to  let  by-gones  be  by-gones 
and  take  a  new  deal.  You  shall  come  back  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,  and  take  your  old  place  as  before.  I 
don't  mind  doing  the  square  thing,  all  round.  If  that 's 
what  you  mean,  if  that 's  all  that  stands  in  the  way,  why, 
look  upon  the  thing  as  settled.  There,  Tita,  old  girl, 
come." 

Careless  or  oblivious  of  her  stony  silence  and  starting 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  157 

eyes,  he  attempted  to  take  her  hand.  But  she  disengaged 
herself  with  a  quick  movement,  drew  back,  and  suddenly 
crouched  like  a  wild  animal  about  to  spring.  Curson 
folded  his  arms  as  she  leaped  to  her  feet ;  the  little  dag 
ger  she  had  drawn  from  her  garter  flashed  menacingly  in 
the  air,  but  she  stopped. 

The  man  before  her  remained  erect,  impassive,  and 
silent ;  the  great  trees  around  and  beyond  her  remained 
erect,  impassive,  and  silent ;  there  was  no  sound  in  the 
dim  aisles  but  the  quick  panting  of  her  mad  passion,  no 
movement  in  the  calm,  motionless  shadow  but  the  trem 
bling  of  her  uplifted  steel.  Her  arm  bent  and  slowly 
sank,  her  fingers  relaxed,  the  knife  fell  from  her  hand. 

"  That  'th  quite  enough  for  a  thow,"  he  said,  with  a 
return  to  his  former  cynical  ease  and  a  perceptible  tone 
of  relief  in  his  voice.  "  It  'th  the  thame  old  Teretha. 
Well,  then,  if  you  won't  go  with  me,  go  without  me  ;  take 
the  led  horthe  and  cut  away.  Dick  Athley  and  Petereth 
will  follow  you  over  the  county  line.  If  you  want  thome 
money,  there  it  ith."  He  took  a  buckskin  purse  from  his 
pocket.  "  If  you  won't  take  it  from  me  "  —  he  hesitated 
as  she  made  no  reply  —  "  Athley  'th  flush  and  ready  to 
lend  you  thome." 

She  had  not  seemed  to  hear  him,  but  had  stooped  in 
some  embarrassment,  picked  up  the  knife  and  hastily  hid 
it,  then  with  averted  face  and  nervous  fingers  was  begin 
ning  to  tear  strips  of  loose  bark  from  the  nearest  trunk. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  thay  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  any  money,  and  I  shall  stay  here."  She 
hesitated,  looked  around  her,  and  then  added,  with  an 
effort,  "  I  suppose  you  meant  well.  Be  it  so  !  Let  by 
gones  be  by-gones.  You  said  just  now,  '  It 's  the  same 
old  Teresa.'  So  she  is,  and  seeing  she 's  the  same  she 's 
better  here  than  anywhere  else." 

There  was  enough  bitterness  in  her  tone  to  call  for 
Curson's  half-perfunctory  sympathy. 


158  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"  That  be  d— d,"  he  responded  quickly.  "  Jutht  thay 
you  '11  come,  Tita,  and  "  — 

She  stopped  his  half-spoken  sentence  with  a  negative 
gesture.  "  You  don't  understand.  I  shall  stay  here." 

"  But  even  if  they  don't  theek  you  here,  you  can't  live 
here  forever.  The  friend  that  you  wrote  about  who  wath 
tho  good  to  you,  you  know,  can't  keep  you  here  alwayth ; 
and  are  you  thure  you  can  alwayth  trutht  her  ? " 

"  It  is  n't  a  woman  ;  it 's  a  man."  She  stopped  short, 
and  colored  to  the  line  of  her  forehead.  "  Who  said  it 
was  a  woman  ?  "  she  continued  fiercely,  as  if  to  cover  her 
confusion  with  a  burst  of  gratuitous  anger.  "  Is  that  an 
other  of  your  lies  ?  " 

Curson's  lips,  which  for  a  moment  had  completely 
lost  their  smile,  were  now  drawn  together  in  a  prolonged 
whistle.  He  gazed  curiously  at  her  gown,  at  her  hat,  at 
the  bow  of  bright  ribbon  that  tied  her  black  hair,  and 
said,  "Ah!" 

"  A  poor  man  who  has  kept  my  secret,"  she  went  on 
hurriedly — "a  man  as  friendless  and  lonely  as  myself. 
Yes,"  disregarding  Curson's  cynical  smile,  "a  man  who 
has  shared  everything  "  — 

"  Naturally,"  suggested  Curson. 

"  And  turned  himself  out  of  his  only  shelter  to  give  me 
a  roof  and  covering,"  she  continued  mechanically,  strug 
gling  with  the  new  and  horrible  fancy  that  his  words 
awakened. 

"And  thlept  every  night  at  Indian  Thpring  to  save 
your  reputation,"  said  Curson.  "  Of  courthe." 

Teresa  turned  very  white.  Curson  was  prepared  for  an 
outburst  of  fury  —  perhaps  even  another  attack.  But  the 
crushed  and  beaten  woman  only  gazed  at  him  with  fright 
ened  and  imploring  eyes.  "  For  God's  sake,  Dick,  don't 
say  that !  " 

The  amiable  cynic  was  staggered.     His  good -humor 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  159 

and  a  certain  chivalrous  instinct  he  could  not  repress  got 
the  better  of  him.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What 
I  thay,  and  what  you  do,  Teretha,  need  n't  make  us  quar 
rel.  I  've  no  claim  on  you  —  I  know  it.  Only  "  —  a 
vivid  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  powerful  in  men  of  his 
stamp,  completed  her  victory  —  "  only  don't  thay  any 
thing  about  my  coming  down  here  to  cut  you  out  from 
the  —  the  —  the  sheriff"  He  gave  utterance  to  a  short 
but  unaffected  laugh,  made  a  slight  grimace,  and  turned 
to  go. 

Teresa  did  not  join  in  his  mirth.  Awkward  as  it  would 
have  been  if  he  had  taken  a  severer  view  of  the  subject, 
she  was  mortified  even  amidst  her  fears  and  embarrass 
ment  at  his  levity.  Just  as  she  had  become  convinced  that 
his  jealousy  had  made  her  over-conscious,  his  apparent 
good-humored  indifference  gave  that  over-consciousness 
a  guilty  significance.  Yet  this  was  lost  in  her  sudden 
alarm-  as  her  companion,  looking  up,  uttered  an  exclama 
tion,  and  placed  his  hand  upon  his  revolver.  With  a 
sinking  conviction  that  the  climax  had  come,  Teresa 
turned  her  eyes.  From  the  dim  aisles  beyond,  Low  was 
approaching.  The  catastrophe  seemed  complete. 

She  had  barely  time  to  utter  an  imploring  whisper  : 
*'  In  the  name  of  God,  not  a  word  to  him."  But  a 
change  had  already  come  over  her  companion.  It  was 
no  longer  a  parley  with  a  foolish  woman ;  he  had  to  deal 
with  a  man  like  himself.  As  Low's  dark  face  and  pic 
turesque  figure  came  nearer,  Mr.  Curson's  proposed  method 
of  dealing  with  him  was  made  audible. 

"  Ith  it  a  mulatto  or  a  Thircuth,  or  both  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  affected  anxiety. 

Low's  Indian  phlegm  was  impervious  to  such  assault. 
He  turned  to  Teresa,  without  apparently  noticing  her 
companion.  "  I  turned  back,"  he  said  quietly,  "  as  soon 
as  I  knew  there  were  strangers  here ;  I  thought  you 


160  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

might  need  me."  She  noticed  for  the  first  time  that,  in 
addition  to  his  rifle,  he  carried  a  revolver  and  hunting- 
knife  in  his  belt. 

"  Yeth,"  returned  Curson,  with  an  ineffectual  attempt 
to  imitate  Low's  phlegm ;  "  but  ath  I  did  n't  happen  to  be 
a  sthranger  to  thith  lady,  perhaps  it  wath  n't  nethethary, 
particularly  ath  I  had  two  friends"  — 

"  Waiting  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  with  a  led  horse," 
interrupted  Low,  without  addressing  him,  but  apparently 
continuing  his  explanation  to  Teresa.  But  she  turned  to 
Low  with  feverish  anxiety. 

"  That 's  so  — he  is  an  old  friend  "  —  she  gave  a  quick, 
imploring  glance  at  Curson  —  "  an  old  friend  who  came 
to  help  me  away  —  he  is  very  kind,"  she  stammered, 
turning  alternately  from  the  one  to  the  other ;  "  but  I  told 
him  there  was  no  hurry  —  at  least  to-day  —  that  you  — 
were  —  very  good — too,  and  would  hide  me  a  little 
longer  until  your  plan  —  you  know  your  plan,"  she  added, 
with  a  look  of  beseeching  significance  to  Low — "could 
be  tried."  And  then,  with  a  helpless  conviction  that  her 
excuses,  motives,  and  emotions  were  equally  and  perfectly 
transparent  to  both  men,  she  stopped  in  a  tremble. 

"  Perhapth  it  'th  jutht  ath  well,  then,  that  the  gentle 
man  came  thraight  here,  and  did  n't  tackle  my  two  friendth 
when  he  pathed  them,"  observed  Curson,  half  sarcasti 
cally. 

"  I  have  not  passed  your  friends,  nor  have  I  been  near 
them,"  said  Low,  looking  at  him  for  the  first  time,  with 
the  same  exasperating  calm,  "  or  perhaps  I  should  not 
be  here  or  they  there.  I  knew  that  one  man  entered  the 
wood  a  few  moments  ago,  and  that  two  men  and  four 
horses  remained  outside." 

"That's  true,"  said  Teresa  to  Curson  excitedly  — 
"that's  true.  He  knows  all.  He  can  see  without  look 
ing,  hear  without  listening.  He  —  he  "  —  she  stammered, 
colored,  and  stopped. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  161 

The  two  men  had  faced  each  other.  Curson,  after  his 
first  good-natured  impulse,  had  retained  no  wish  to  regain 
Teresa,  whom  he  felt  he  no  longer  loved,  and  yet  who, 
for  that  very  reason  perhaps,  had  awakened  his  chival 
rous  instincts.  Low,  equally  on  his  side,  was  altogether 
unconscious  of  any  feeling  which  might  grow  into  a  pas 
sion,  and  prevent  him  from  letting  her  go  with  another  if 
for  her  own  safety.  They  were  both  men  of  a  certain  taste 
and  refinement.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  some  vague 
instinct  of  the  baser  male  animal  remained  with  them, 
and  they  were  moved  to  a  mutually  aggressive  attitude  in 
the  presence  of  the  female. 

One  word  more,  and  the  opening  chapter  of  a  sylvan 
Iliad  might  have  begun.  But  this  modern  Helen  saw  it 
coming,  and  arrested  it  with  an  inspiration  of  feminine 
genius.  Without  being  observed,  she  disengaged  her 
knife  from  her  bosom  and  let  it  fall  as  if  by  accident. 
It  struck  the  ground  with  the  point  of  its  keen  blade, 
bounded  and  rolled  between  them.  The  two  men  started 
and  looked  at  each  other  with  a  foolish  air.  Curson 
laughed. 

"I  reckon  she  can  take  care  of  herthelf,"  he  said, 
extending  his  hand  to  Low.  "  I  'm  off.  But  if  I  'm 
wanted  she  '//  know  where  to  find  me."  Low  took  the 
proffered  hand,  but  neither  of  the  two  men  looked  at 
Teresa.  The  reserve  of  antagonism  once  broken,  a  few 
words  of  caution,  advice,  and  encouragement  passed 
between  them,  in  apparent  obliviousness  of  her  presence 
or  her  personal  responsibility.  As  Curson  at  last  nodded 
a  farewell  to  her,  Low  insisted  upon  accompanying  him 
as  far  as  the  horses,  and  in  another  moment  she  was 
again  alone. 

She  had  saved  a  quarrel  between  them  at  the  sacrifice 
of  herself,  for  her  vanity  was  still  keen  enough  to  feel 
that  this  exhibition  of  her  old  weakness  had  degraded 


1 62  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

her  in  their  eyes,  and,  worse,  had  lost  the  respect  her  late 
restraint  had  won  from  Low.  They  had  treated  her  like 
a  child  or  a  crazy  woman,  perhaps  even  now  were  ex 
changing  criticisms  upon  her  —  perhaps  pitying  her! 
Yet  she  had  prevented  a  quarrel,  a  fight,  possibly  the 
death  of  either  one  or  the  other  of  these  men  who 
despised  her,  for  none  better  knew  than  she  the  trivial 
beginning  and  desperate  end  of  these  encounters.  Would 
they  —  would  Low  ever  realize  it,  and  forgive  her?  Her 
small,  dark  hands  went  up  to  her  eyes  and  she  sank  upon 
the  ground.  She  looked  through  tear-veiled  lashes  upon 
the  mute  and  giant  witnesses  of  her  deceit  and  passion, 
and  tried  to  draw,  from  their  immovable  calm,  strength  and 
consolation  as  before.  But  even  they  seemed  to  stand 
apart,  reserved  and  forbidding. 

When  Low  returned  she  hoped  to  gather  from  his  eyes 
and  manner  what  had  passed  between  him  and  her  former 
lover.  But  beyond  a  mere  gentle  abstraction  at  times  he 
retained  his  usual  calm.  She  was  at  last  forced  to  allude 
to  it  herself  with  simulated  recklessness. 

"  I  suppose  I  did  n't  get  a  very  good  character  from  my 
last  place  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  he  replied,  in  evident  sin 
cerity. 

She  bit  her  lip  and  was  silent.  But  as  they  were  re 
turning  home,  she  said  gently,  "  I  hope  you  were  not 
angry  with  me  for  the  lie  I  told  when  I  spoke  of  '  your 
plan/  I  could  not  give  the  real  reason  for  not  return 
ing  with  —  with  —  that  man.  But  it 's  not  all  a  lie.  I 
have  a  plan  — if  you  have  n't.  When  you  are  ready  to  go 
to  Sacramento  to  take  your  place,  dress  me  as  an  Indian 
boy,  paint  my  face,  and  let  me  go  with  you.  You  can 
leave  me  —  there  —  you  know." 

"  It 's  not  a  bad  idea,"  he  responded  gravely.  "  We 
will  see." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  163 

On  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  the  rencontre  seemed  to 
be  forgotten.  The  herbarium  was  already  filled  with  rare 
specimens.  Teresa  had  even  overcome  her  feUiinine  re 
pugnance  to  "  bugs  "  and  creeping  things  so  far  as  to  as 
sist  in  his  entomological  collection.  He  had  drawn  from 
a  sacred  cache  in  the  hollow  of  a  tree  the  few  worn  text 
books  from  which  he  had  studied. 

"  They  seem  very  precious,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"Very,"  he  replied  gravely.  "There  was  one  with 
plates  that  the  ants  ate  up,  and  it  will  be  six  months 
before  I  can  afford  to  buy  another." 

Teresa  glanced  hurriedly  over  his  well-worn  buckskin 
suit,  at  his  calico  shirt  with  its  pattern  almost  obliterated 
by  countless  washings,  and  became  thoughtful. 

"  I  suppose  you  could  n't  buy  one  at  Indian  Spring  ?  " 
she  said  innocently. 

For  once  Low  was  startled  out  of  his  phlegm.  "  Indian 
Spring  !  "  he  ejaculated ;  "  perhaps  not  even  in  San  Fran 
cisco.  These  came  from  the  States." 

"  How  did  you  get  them  ? "  persisted  Teresa. 

"  I  bought  them  for  skins  I  got  over  the  ridge." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  that  —  but  no  matter.  Then  you  mean 
to  sell  that  bearskin,  don't  you  ?  "  she  added. 

Low  had,  in  fact,  already  sold  it,  the  proceeds  having 
been  invested  in  a  gold  ring  for  Miss  Nellie,  which  she 
scrupulously  did  not  wear  except  in  his  presence.  In  his 
singular  truthfulness  he  would  have  frankly  confessed  it 
to  Teresa,  but  the  secret  was  not  his  own.  He  contented 
himself  with  saying  that  he  had  disposed  of  it  at  Indian 
Spring.  Teresa  started,  and  communicated  unconsciously 
some  of  her  nervousness  to  her  companion.  They  gazed 
in  each  other's  eyes  with  a  troubled  expression. 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  wise  to  sell  that  particular  skin, 
which  might  be  identified  ? "  she  asked  timidly. 

Low  knitted  his  arched  brows,  but  felt  a  strange  sense 


164  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

of  relief.  "  Perhaps  not,"  he  said  carelessly  ;  "  but  it 's 
too  late  now  to  mend  matters." 

That  afternoon  she  wrote  several  letters,  and  tore  them 
up.  One,  however,  she  retained,  and  handed  it  to  Low  to 
post  at  Indian  Spring,  whither  he  was  going.  She  called 
his  attention  to  the  superscription  being  the  same  as  the 
previous  letter,  and  added,  with  affected  gayety,  "  But  if 
the  answer  is  n't  as  prompt,  perhaps  it  will  be  pleasanter 
than  the  last."  Her  quick  feminine  eye  noticed  a  little 
excitement  in  his  manner  and  a  more  studious  attention 
to  his  dress.  Only  a  few  days  before  she  would  not  have 
allowed  this  to  pass  without  some  mischievous  allusion  to 
his  mysterious  sweetheart  ;  it  troubled  her  greatly  now  to 
find  that  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  this  household 
pleasantry,  and  that  her  lip  trembled  and  her  eye  grew 
moist  as  he  parted  from  her. 

The  afternoon  passed  slowly;  he  had  said  he  might 
not  return  to  supper  until  late,  nevertheless  a  strange 
restlessness  took  possession  of  her  as  the  day  wore  on. 
She  put  aside  her  work,  the  darning  of  his  stockings,  and 
rambled  aimlessly  through  the  woods.  She  had  wandered 
she  knew  not  how  far,  when  she  was  suddenly  seized  with 
the  same  vague  sense  of  a  foreign  presence  which  she  had 
felt  before.  Could  it  be  Curson  again,  with  a  word  of 
warning  ?  No !  she  knew  it  was  not  he ;  so  subtle  had 
her  sense  become  that  she  even  fancied  that  she  detected 
in  the  invisible  aura  projected  by  the  unknown  no  signifi 
cance  or  relation  to  herself  or  Low,  and  felt  no  fear. 
Nevertheless  she  deemed  it  wisest  to  seek  the  protection 
of  her  sylvan  bower,  and  hurried  swiftly  thither. 

But  not  so  quickly  nor  directly  that  she  did  not  once  or 
twice  pause  in  her  flight  to  examine  the  new-comer  from 
behind  a  friendly  trunk.  He  was  a  stranger  —  a  young  fel 
low  with  a  brown  mustache,  wearing  heavy  Mexican  spurs 
in  his  riding-boots,  whose  tinkling  he  apparently  did  not 


In  the  Carquinez  Woods.  165 

care  to  conceal.  He  had  perceived  her,  and  was  evidently 
pursuing  her,  but  so  awkwardly  and  timidly  that  she  eluded 
him  with  ease.  When  she  had  reached  the  security  of  the 
hollow  tree  and  had  pulled  the  curtain  of  bark  before  the 
narrow  opening,  with  her  eye  to  the  interstices,  she  waited 
his  coming.  He  arrived  breathlessly  in  the  open  space  be 
fore  the  tree  where  the  bear  once  lay ;  the  dazed,  bewil 
dered,  and  half  awed  expression  of  his  face,  as  he  glanced 
around  him  and  through  the  openings  of  the  forest  aisles, 
brought  a  faint  smile  to  her  saddened  face.  At  last  he 
called  in  a  half  embarrassed  voice  : 

"  Miss  Nellie  !  " 

The  smile  faded  from  Teresa's  cheek.  Who  was  "  Miss 
Nellie  "  ?  She  pressed  her  ear  to  the  opening.  "  Miss 
Wynn !  "  the  voice  again  called,  but  was  lost  in  the  echo- 
less  woods.  Devoured  with  a  new  and  gratuitous  curi 
osity,  in  another  moment  Teresa  felt  she  would  have  dis 
closed  herself  at  any  risk,  but  the  stranger  rose  and  began 
to  retrace  his  steps.  Long  after  his  tinkling  spurs  were 
lost  in  the  distance,  Teresa  remained  like  a  statue,  staring 
at  the  place  where  he  had  stood.  Then  she  suddenly 
turned  like  a  mad  woman,  glanced  down  at  the  gown  she 
was  wearing,  tore  it  from  her  back  as  if  it  had  been  a  pol 
luted  garment,  and  stamped  upon  it  in  a  convulsion  of 
rage.  And  then,  with  her  beautiful  bare  arms  clasped  to 
gether  over  her  head,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  couch  in 
a  tempest  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  Miss  Nellie  reached  the  first  mining  extension 
of  Indian  Spring,  which  surrounded  it  like  a  fosse,  she 
descended  for  one  instant  into  one  of  its  trenches,  opened 
her  parasol,  removed  her  duster,  hid  it  under  a  bowlder, 
and  with  a  few  shivers  and  cat-like  strokes  of  her  soft 
hands  not  only  obliterated  all  material  traces  of  the  stolen 
cream  of  Carquinez  Woods,  but  assumed  a  feline  demure- 
ness  quite  inconsistent  with  any  moral  dereliction.  Un 
fortunately,  she  forgot  to  remove  at  the  same  time  a 
certain  ring  from  her  third  finger,  which  she  had  put  on 
with  her  duster  and  had  worn  at  no  other  time.  With 
this  slight  exception,  the  benignant  fate  which  always 
protected  that  young  person  brought  her  in  contact  with 
the  Burnham  girls  at  one  end  of  the  main  street  as  the 
returning  coach  to  Excelsior  entered  the  other,  and  en 
abled  her  to  take  leave  of  them  before  the  coach  office 
with  a  certain  ostentation  of  parting  which  struck  Mr. 
Jack  Brace,  who  was  lingering  at  the  doorway,  into  a 
state  of  utter  bewilderment. 

Here  was  Miss  Nellie  Wynn,  the  belle  of  Excelsior, 
calm,  quiet,  self-possessed,  her  chaste  cambric  skirts  and 
dainty  shoes  as  fresh  as  when  she  had  left  her  father's 
house  ;  but  where  was  the  woman  of  the  brown  duster, 
and  where  the  yellow-dressed  apparition  of  the  woods  ? 
He  was  feebly  repeating  to  himself  his  mental  adjuration 
of  a  few  hours  before  when  he  caught  her  eye,  and  was 
taken  with  a  blush  and  a  fit  of  coughing.  Could  he  have 
been  such  an  egregious  fool,  and  was  it  not  plainly  writ 
ten  on  his  embarrassed  face  for  her  to  read  ? 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  167 

"  Are  we  going  down  together  ? "  asked  Miss  Nellie, 
with  an  exceptionally  gracious  smile. 

There  was  neither  affectation  nor  coquetry  in  this  ad 
vance.  The  girl  had  no  idea  of  Brace's  suspicion  of  her, 
nor  did  any  uneasy  desire  to  placate  or  deceive  a  possible 
rival  of  Low's  prompt  her  graciousness.  She  simply 
wished  to  shake  off  in  this  encounter  the  already  stale  ex 
citement  of  the  past  two  hours,  as  she  had  shaken  the 
dust  of  the  woods  from  her  clothes.  It  was  characteristic 
of  her  irresponsible  nature  and  transient  susceptibilities 
that  she  actually  enjoyed  the  relief  of  change  ;  more  than 
that,  I  fear,  she  looked  upon  this  infidelity  to  a  past  dubi 
ous  pleasure  as  a  moral  principle.  A  mild,  open  flirta 
tion  with  a  recognized  man  like  Brace,  after  her  secret 
passionate  tryst  with  a  nameless  nomad  like  Low,  was  an 
ethical  equipoise  that  seemed  proper  to  one  of  her  re 
ligious  education. 

Brace  was  only  too  happy  to  profit  by  Miss  Nellie's 
condescension ;  he  at  once  secured  the  seat  by  her  side, 
and  spent  the  four  hours  and  a  half  of  their  return 
journey  to  Excelsior  in  blissful  but  timid  communion  with 
her.  If  he  did  not  dare  to  confess  his  past  suspicions,  he 
was  equally  afraid  to  venture  upon  the  boldness  he  had 
premeditated  a  few  hours  before.  He  was  therefore 
obliged  to  take  a  middle  course  of  slightly  egotistical  nar 
ration  of  his  own  personal  adventures,  with  which  he  be 
guiled  the  young  girl's  ear.  This  he  only  departed  from 
once,  to  describe  to  her  a  valuable  grizzly  bearskin  which 
he  had  seen  that  day  for  sale  at  Indian  Spring,  with  a 
view  to  divining  her  possible  acceptance  of  it  for  a 
"buggy  robe  ; "  and  once  to  comment  upon  a  ring  which 
she  had  inadvertently  disclosed  in  pulling  off  her  glove. 

"  It 's  only  an  old  family  keepsake,"  she  added,  with 
easy  mendacity ;  and  affecting  to  recognize  in  Mr.  Brace's 
curiosity  a  not  unnatural  excuse  for  toying  with  her 


1 68  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

charming  fingers,  she  hid  them  in  chaste  and  virginal  se 
clusion  in  her  lap,  until  she  could  recover  the  ring  and 
resume  her  glove. 

A  week  passed — a  week  of  peculiar  and  desiccating 
heat  for  even  those  dry  Sierra  table-lands.  The  long 
days  were  filled  with  impalpable  dust  and  acrid  haze  sus 
pended  in  the  motionless  air;  the  nights  were  breathless 
and  dewless ;  the  cold  wind  which  usually  swept  down 
from  the  snow  line  was  laid  to  sleep  over  a  dark  monot 
onous  level,  whose  horizon  was  pricked  with  the  eating 
fires  of  burning  forest  crests.  The  lagging  coach  of  In 
dian  Spring  drove  up  at  Excelsior,  and  precipitated  its 
passengers  with  an  accompanying  cloud  of  dust  before 
the  Excelsior  Hotel.  As  they  emerged  from  the  coach, 
Mr.  Brace,  standing  in  the  doorway,  closely  scanned  their 
begrimed  and  almost  unrecognizable  faces.  They  were 
the  usual  type  of  travelers :  a  single  professional  man  in 
dusty  black,  a  few  traders  in  tweeds  and  flannels,  a 
sprinkling  of  miners  in  red  and  gray  shirts,  a  Chinaman, 
a  negro,  and  a  Mexican  packer  or  muleteer.  This  latter 
for  a  moment  mingled  with  the  crowd  in  the  bar-room, 
and  even  penetrated  the  corridor  and  dining-room  of  the 
hotel,  as  if  impelled  by  a  certain  semi-civilized  curiosity, 
and  then  strolled  with  a  lazy,  dragging  step  —  half  im 
peded  by  the  enormous  leather  leggings,  chains,  and 
spurs,  peculiar  to  his  class  —  down  the  main  street.  The 
darkness  was  gathering,  but  the  muleteer  indulged  in  the 
same  childish  scrutiny  of  the  dimly  lighted  shops,  maga 
zines,  and  saloons,  and  even  of  the  occasional  groups  of 
citizens  at  the  street  corners.  Apparently  young,  as  far 
as  the  outlines  of  his  figure  could  be  seen,  he  seemed  to 
show  even  more  than  the  usual,  concern  of  masculine  Ex 
celsior  in  the  charms  of  womankind.  The  few  female 
figures  about  at  that  hour,  or  visible  at  window  or  ve 
randa,  received  his  marked  attention;  he  respectfully 


In  the  Carquinez  Woods.  169 

followed  the  two  auburn-haired  daughters  of  Deacon 
Johnson  on  their  way  to  choir  meeting  to  the  door  of  the 
church.  Not  content  with  that  act  of  discreet  gallantry, 
after  they  had  entered  he  managed  to  slip  in  unperceived 
behind  them. 

The  memorial  of  the  Excelsior  gamblers'  generosity 
was  a  modern  building,  large  and  pretentious  for  even 
Mr.  Wynn's  popularity,  and  had  been  good-humoredly 
known,  in  the  characteristic  language  of  the  generous  do 
nors,  as  one  of  the  "  biggest  religious  bluffs  "  on  record. 
Its  groined  rafters,  which  were  so  new  and  spicy  that  they 
still  suggested  their  native  forest  aisles,  seldom  covered 
more  than  a  hundred  devotees,  and  in  the  rambling  choir, 
with  its  bare  space  for  the  future  organ,  the  few  choris 
ters,  gathered  round  a  small  harmonium,  were  lost  in  the 
deepening  shadow  of  that  summer  evening.  The  mule 
teer  remained  hidden  in  the  obscurity  of  the  vestibule. 
After  a  few  moments'  desultory  conversation,  in  which  it 
appeared  that  the  unexpected  absence  of  Miss  Nellie 
Wynn,  their  leader,  would  prevent  their  practicing,  the 
choristers  withdrew.  The  stranger,  who  had  listened 
eagerly,  drew  back  in  the  darkness  as  they  passed  out, 
and  remained  for  a  few  moments  a  vague  and  motionless 
figure  in  the  silent  church.  Then  coming  cautiously  to 
the  window,  the  flapping  broad  -  brimmed  hat  was  put 
aside,  and  the  faint  light  of  the  dying  day  shone  in  the 
black  eyes  of  Teresa !  Despite  her  face,  darkened  with 
dye  and  disfigured  with  dust,  the  matted  hair  piled  and 
twisted  around  her  head,  the  strange  dress  and  boyish 
figure,  one  swift  glance  from  under  her  raised  lashes 
betrayed  her  identity. 

She  turned  aside  mechanically  into  the  first  pew,  picked 
up  and  opened  a  hymn-book.  Her  eyes  became  riveted 
on  a  name  written  on  the  title-page,  "Nellie  Wynn." 
Her  name,  and  her  book.  The  instinct  that  had  guided 


170  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

her  here  was  right ;  the  slight  gossip  of  her  fellow-pas 
sengers  was  right ;  this  was  the  clergyman's  daughter, 
whose  praise  filled  all  mouths.  This  was  the  unknown 
girl  the  stranger  was  seeking,  but  who  in  her  turn  per 
haps  had  been  seeking  Low  —  the  girl  who  absorbed  his 
fancy  —  the  secret  of  his  absences,  his  preoccupation, 
his  coldness  !  This  was  the  girl  whom  to  see,  perhaps  in 
his  arms,  she  was  now  periling  her  liberty  and  her  life 
unknown  to  him !  A  slight  odor,  some  faint  perfume  of 
its  owner,  came  from  the  book  ;  it  was  the  same  she  had 
noticed  in  the  dress  Low  had  given  her.  She  flung  the 
volume  to  the  ground,  and,  throwing  her  arms  over  the 
back  of  the  pew  before  her,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
In  that  light  and  attitude  she  might  have  seemed  some 
rapt  acolyte  abandoned  to  self-communion.  But  whatever 
yearning  her  soul  might  have  had  for  higher  sympathy 
or  deeper  consolation,  I  fear  that  the  spiritual  Tabernacle 
of  Excelsior  and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wynn  did  not  meet 
that  requirement.  She  only  felt  the  dry,  oven-like  heat 
of  that  vast  shell,  empty  of  sentiment  and  beauty,  hollow 
in  its  pretense  and  dreary  in  its  desolation.  She  only 
saw  in  it  a  chief  altar  for  the  glorification  of  this  girl  who 
had  absorbed  even  the  pure  worship  of  her  companion, 
and  converted  and  degraded  his  sublime  paganism  to  her 
petty  creed.  With  a  woman's  withering  contempt  for  her 
own  art  displayed  in  another  woman,  she  thought  how 
she  herself  could  have  touched  him  with  the  peace  that 
the  majesty  of  their  woodland  aisles  —  so  unlike  this 
pillared  sham  —  had  taught  her  own  passionate  heart, 
had  she  but  dared.  Mingling  with  this  imperfect  the 
ology,  she  felt  she  could  have  proved  to  him  also  that  a 
brunette  and  a  woman  of  her  experience  was  better  than 
an  immature  blonde.  She  began  to  loathe  herself  for 
coming  hither,  and  dreaded  to  meet  his  face.  Here  a 
sudden  thought  struck  her.  What  if  he  had  not  come 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  171 

here  ?  What  if  she  had  been  mistaken  ?  What  if  her  rash 
interpretation  of  his  absence  from  the  wood  that  night 
was  simple  madness  ?  What  if  he  should  return  —  if  he 
had  already  returned  ?  She  rose  to  her  feet,  whitening, 
yet  joyful  with  the  thought.  She  would  return  at  once ; 
what  was  the  girl  to  her  now  ?  Yet  there  was  time  to 
satisfy  herself  if  he  were  at  her  house.  She  had  been 
told  where  it  was  ;  she  could  find  it  in  the  dark ;  an  open 
door  or  window  would  betray  some  sign  or  sound  of  the 
occupants.  She  rose,  replaced  her  hat  over  her  eyes, 
knotted  her  flaunting  scarf  around  her  throat,  groped  her 
way  to  the  door,  and  glided  into  the  outer  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IT  was  quite  dark  when  Mr.  Jack  Brace  stopped 
before  Father  Wynn's  open  door.  The  windows  were 
also  invitingly  open  to  the  wayfarer,  as  were  the  pastoral 
counsels  of  Father  Wynn,  delivered  to  some  favored 
guest  within,  in  a  tone  of  voice  loud  enough  for  a  pulpit. 
Jack  Brace  paused.  The  visitor  was  the  convalescent 
sheriff,  Jim  Dunn,  who  had  publicly  commemorated  his 
recovery  by  making  his  first  call  upon  the  father  of  his 
inamorata.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Wynn  had  been  expatiat 
ing  upon  the  unremitting  heat  as  a  possible  precursor  of 
forest  fires,  and  exhibiting  some  catholic  knowledge  of 
the  designs  of  a  Deity  in  that  regard,  and  what  should  be 
the  policy  of  the  Legislature,  when  Mr.  Brace  concluded 
to  enter.  Mr.  Wynn  and  the  wounded  man,  who  occu 
pied  an  arm-chair  by  the  window,  were  the  only  occupants 
of  the  room.  But  in  spite  of  the  former's  ostentatious 
greeting,  Brace  could  see  that  his  visit  was  inopportune 
and  unwelcome.  The  sheriff  nodded  a  quick,  impatient 
recognition,  which,  had  it  not  been  accompanied  by  an 
anathema  on  the  heat,  might  have  been  taken  as  a  per 
sonal  insult.  Neither  spoke  of  Miss  Nellie,  although  it 
was  patent  to  Brace  that  they  were  momentarily  expecting 
her.  All  of  which  went  far  to  strengthen  a  certain  wa 
vering  purpose  in  his  mind. 

"  Ah,  ha !  strong  language,  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  Father 
Wynn,  referring  to  the  sheriff's  adjuration,  "  but  *  out  of 
the  fullness  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh.'  Job,  sir," 
cursed,  we  are  told,  and  even  expressed  himself  in  vig 
orous  Hebrew  regarding  his  birthday.  Ha,  ha !  I  'm  not 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  173 

opposed  to  that.  When  I  have  often  wrestled  with  the 
spirit  I  confess  I  have  sometimes  said,  *D — n  you.' 
Yes,  sir,  '  D — n  you.'  " 

There  was  something  so  unutterably  vile  in  the  rever 
end  gentleman's  utterance  and  emphasis  of  this  oath  that 
the  two  men,  albeit  both  easy  and  facile  blasphemers, 
felt  shocked  ;  as  the  purest  of  actresses  is  apt  to  overdo 
the  rakishness  of  a  gay  Lothario,  Father  Wynn's  immacu 
late  conception  of  an  imprecation  was  something  terrible. 
But  he  added,  "  The  law  ought  to  interfere  with  the  reck 
less  use  of  camp-fires  in  the  woods  in  such  weather  by 
packers  and  prospecters. " 

"  It  is  n't  so  much  the  work  of  white  men,"  broke  in 
Brace,  "as  it  is  of  Greasers,  Chinamen,  and  Diggers, 
especially  Diggers.  There  's  that  blasted  Low,  ranges 
the  whole  Carquinez  Woods  as  if  they  were  his.  I 
reckon  he  ain't  particular  just  where  he  throws  his 
matches." 

"  But  he  's  not  a  Digger ;  he  's  a  Cherokee,  and  only  a 
half-breed  at  that,"  interpolated  Wynn.  "Unless,"  he 
added,  with  the  artful  suggestion  of  the  betrayed  trust  of 
a  too  credulous  Christian,  "  he  deceived  me  in  this  as  in 
other  things." 

In  what  other  things  Low  had  deceived  him  he  did 
not  say ;  but,  to  the  astonishment  of  both  men,  Dunn 
growled  a  dissent  to  Brace's  proposition.  Either  from 
some  secret  irritation  with  that  possible  rival,  or  impa 
tience  at  the  prolonged  absence  of  Nellie,  he  had  "  had 
enough  of  that  sort  of  hog-wash  ladled  out  to  him  for 
genuine  liquor."  As  to  the  Carquinez  Woods,  he  [Dunn] 
"did  n't  know  why  Low  had  n't  as  much  right  there  as 
if  he  'd  grabbed  it  under  a  preemption  law  and  did  n't 
live  there."  With  this  hint  at  certain  speculations  of 
Father  Wynn  in  public  lands  for  a  homestead,  he  added 
that  "  If  they  [Brace  and  Wynn]  could  bring  him  along 


174  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

any  older  American  settler  than  an  Indian,  they  might 
rake  down  his  [Dunn's]  pile."  Unprepared  for  this  turn 
in  the  conversation,  Wynn  hastened  to  explain  that  he 
did  not  refer  to  the  pure  aborigine,  whose  gradual  ex 
tinction  no  one  regretted  more  than  himself,  but  to  the 
mongrel,  who  inherited  only  the  vices  of  civilization. 
"There  should  be  a  law,  sir,  against  the  mingling  of 
races.  There  are  men,  sir,  who  violate  the  laws  of  the 
Most  High  by  living  with  Indian  women  —  squaw  men, 
sir,  as  they  are  called." 

Dunn  rose  with  a  face  livid  with  weakness  and  passion. 
"Who  dares  say  that?  They  are  a  d — d  sight  better 
than  sneaking  Northern  Abolitionists,  who  married  their 
daughters  to  buck  niggers  like  "  —  But  a  spasm  of  pain 
withheld  this  Parthian  shot  at  the  politics  of  his  two  com 
panions,  and  he  sank  back  helplessly  in  his  chair. 

An  awkward  silence  ensued.  The  three  men  looked 
at  each  other  in  embarrassment  and  confusion.  Dunn 
felt  that  he  had  given  way  to  a  gratuitous  passion ;  Wynn 
had  a  vague  presentiment  that  he  had  said  something 
that  imperiled  his  daughter's  prospects ;  and  Brace  was 
divided  between  an  angry  retort  and  the  secret  purpose 
already  alluded  to. 

"  It 's  all  the  blasted  heat,"  said  Dunn,  with  a  forced 
smile,  pushing  away  the  whiskey  which  Wynn  had  osten 
tatiously  placed  before  him. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Wynn  hastily ;  "  only  it 's  a  pity 
Nellie  ain't  here  to  give  you  her  smelling-salts.  She 
ought  to  be  back  now,"  he  added,  no  longer  mindful  of 
Brace's  presence  ;  "  the  coach  is  over-due  now,  though 
I  reckon  the  heat  made  Yuba  Bill  take  it  easy  at  the  up 
grade." 

"  If  you  mean  the  coach  from  Indian  Spring,"  said 
Brace  quietly,  "  it 's  in  already  ;  but  Miss  Nellie  did  n't 
come  on  it." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  175 

"  Maybe  she  got  out  at  the  Crossing,"  said  Wynn 
cheerfully  ;  "  she  sometimes  does." 

"  She  did  n't  take  the  coach  at  Indian  Spring,"  returned 
Brace,  "  because  I  saw  it  leave,  and  passed  it  on  Buck 
skin  ten  minutes  ago,  coming  up  the  hills." 

"  She  's  stopped  over  at  Burnham's,"  said  Wynn  reflec 
tively.  Then,  in  response  to  the  significant  silence  of 
his  guests,  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  chagrin  which  his 
forced  heartiness  could  not  disguise,  "  Well,  boys,  it 's  a 
disappointment  all  round ;  but  we  must  take  the  lesson 
as  it  comes.  I  '11  go  over  to  the  coach  office  and  see  if 
she  's  sent  any  word.  Make  yourselves  at  home  until  I 
return." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  Brace  arose  and 
took  his  hat  as  if  to  go.  With  his  hand  on  the  lock,  he 
turned  to  his  rival,  who,  half-hidden  in  the  gathering  dark 
ness,  still  seemed  unable  to  comprehend  his  ill-luck. 

"  If  you  're  waiting  for  that  bald-headed  fraud  to  come 
back  with  the  truth  about  his  daughter,"  said  Brace  coolly, 
"you  'd  better  send  for  your  things  and  take  up  your  lodg 
ings  here." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  Dunn  sternly. 

"I  mean  that  she's  not  at  the  Burnhams' ;  I  mean 
that  he  does  or  does  not  know  where  she  is,  and  that  in 
either  case  he  is  not  likely  to  give  you  information.  But 
I  can." 

"  You  can  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  where  is  she  ?  " 

"  In  the  Carquinez  Woods,  in  the  arms  of  the  man  you 
were  just  defending  —  Low,  the  half-breed." 

The  room  had  become  so  dark  that  from  the  road  noth 
ing  could  be  distinguished.  Only  the  momentary  sound 
of  struggling  feet  was  heard. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Brace's  voice,  "and  don't  be  a  fool. 


176  In  the  Carquinez  Woods. 

You  ?re  too  weak,  and  it  ain't  a  fair  fight.  Let  go  your 
hold.  I  'm  not  lying  —  I  wish  to  God  I  was  !  " 

There  was  a  silence,  and  Brace  resumed,  "  We  Ve  been 
rivals,  I  know.  Maybe  I  thought  my  chance  as  good  as 
yours.  If  what  I  say  ain't  truth,  we  '11  stand  as  we  stood 
before  ;  and  if  you  're  on  the  shoot,  I  'm  your  man  when 
you  like,  where  you  like,  or  on  sight  if  you  choose.  But  I 
can't  see  another  man  played  upon  as  I  Ve  been  played 
upon  —  given  dead  away  as  I  have  been.  It  ain't  on  the 
square. 

"There,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "that's  right; 
now  steady.  Listen.  A  week  ago  that  girl  went  down 
just  like  this  to  Indian  Spring.  It  was  given  out,  like 
this,  that  she  went  to  the  Burnhams'.  I  don't  mind  saying, 
Dunn,  that  I  went  down  myself,  all  on  the  square,  think 
ing  I  might  get  a  show  to  talk  to  her,  just  as  you  might 
have  done,  you  know,  if  you  had  my  chance.  I  did  n't 
come  across  her  anywhere.  But  two  men  that  I  met 
thought  they  recognized  her  in  a  disguise  going  into  the 
woods.  Not  suspecting  anything,  I  went  after  her  ;  saw 
her  at  a  distance  in  the  middle  of  the  woods  in  another 
dress  that  I  can  swear  to,  and  was  just  coming  up  to  her 
when  she  vanished  —  went  like  a  squirrel  up  a  tree,  or 
down  like  a  gopher  in  the  ground,  but  vanished." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Dunn's  voice.  "  And  just  because 
you  were  a  d — d  fool,  or  had  taken  a  little  too  much 
whiskey,  you  thought  "  — 

"Steady!  That's  just  what  I  said  to  myself,"  in 
terrupted  Brace  coolly,  "particularly  when  I  saw  her 
that  same  afternoon  in  another  dress,  saying  good-by  to 
the  Burnhams,  as  fresh  as  a  rose  and  as  cold  as  those 
snow-peaks.  Only  one  thing — she  had  a  ring  on  her 
finger  she  never  wore  before,  and  didn't  expect  me  to 
see." 

"What  if  she   did?     She   might  have   bought  it.     I 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  177 

reckon  she  has  n't  to  consult  you,"  broke  in  Dunn's  voice 
sternly. 

"  She  did  n't  buy  it,"  continued  Brace  quietly.  "  Low 
gave  that  Jew  trader  a  bearskin  in  exchange  for  it,  and 
presented  it  to  her.  I  found  that  out  two  days  afterwards. 
I  found  out  that  out  of  the  whole  afternoon  she  spent  less 
than  an  hour  with  the  Burnhams.  I  found  out  that  she 
bought  a  duster  like  the  disguise  the  two  men  saw  her  in. 
I  found  the  yellow  dress  she  wore  that  day  hanging  up  in 
Low's  cabin  —  the  place  where  I  saw  her  go  —  the  rendez 
vous  where  she  meets  him.  Oh,  you  're  listening  are  you  ? 
Stop  !  SIT  DOWN  ! 

"  I  discovered  it  by  accident,"  continued  the  voice  of 
Brace  when  all  was  again  quiet ;  "  it  was  hidden  as  only  a 
squirrel  or  an  Injin  can  hide  when  they  improve  upon  na 
ture.  When  I  was  satisfied  that  the  girl  had  been  in  the 
woods,  I  was  determined  to  find  out  where  she  vanished, 
and  went  there  again.  Prospecting  around,  I  picked  up 
at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  biggest  trees  this  yer  old  mem 
orandum-book,  with  grasses  and  herbs  stuck  in  it.  I  re 
membered  that  I  'd  heard  old  Wynn  say  that  Low,  like 
the  d — d  Digger  that  he  was,  collected  these  herbs  ;  only 
he  pretended  it  was  for  science.  I  reckoned  the  book 
was  his  and  that  he  might  n't  be  far  away.  I  lay  low 
and  waited.  Bimeby  I  saw  a  lizard  running  down  the 
root.  When  he  got  sight  of  me  he  stopped." 

"  D — n  the  lizard  !  What 's  that  got  to  do  with  where 
she  is  now  ?  " 

"  Everything.  That  lizard  had  a  piece  of  sugar  in 
his  mouth.  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  I  made  him 
drop  it,  and  calculated  he  'd  go  back  for  more.  He 
did.  He  scooted  up  that  tree  and  slipped  in  under  some 
hanging  strips  of  bark.  I  shoved  'em  aside,  and  found 
an  opening  to  the  hollow  where  they  do  their  house 
keeping." 


178  In  the  Carcjuinez   Woods. 

"  But  you  did  n't  see  her  there  —  and  how  do  you  know 
she  is  there  now  ?  " 

"  I  determined  to  make  it  sure.  When  she  left  to-day, 
I  started  an  hour  ahead  of  her,  and  hid  myself  at  the  edge 
of  the  woods.  An  hour  after  the  coach  arrived  at  Indian 
Spring,  she  came  there  in  a  brown  duster  and  was  joined 
by  him.  I  'd  have  followed  them,  but  the  d — d  hound 
has  the  ears  of  a  squirrel,  and  though  I  was  five  hundred 
yards  from  him  he  was  on  his  guard." 

"  Guard  be  blessed  !  Was  n't  you  armed  ?  Why  did  n't 
you  go  for  him  ?  "  said  Dunn,  furiously. 

"  I  reckoned  I  'd  leave  that  for  you,"  said  Brace  coolly. 
"  If  he  'd  killed  me,  and  if  he  'd  even  covered  me  with  his 
rifle,  he  'd  be  sure  to  let  daylight  through  me  at  double 
the  distance.  I  should  n't  have  been  any  better  off,  nor 
you  either.  If  I  'd  killed  him,  it  would  have  been  your 
duty  as  sheriff  to  put  me  in  jail ;  and  I  reckon  it  wouldn't 
have  broken  your  heart,  Jim  Dunn,  to  have  got  rid  of  two 
rivals  instead  of  one.  Hullo  !  Where  are  you  going  ? " 

"  Going  ? '  said  Dunn  hoarsely.  "  Going  to  the  Car- 
quinez  Woods,  by  God  !  to  kill  him  before  her.  /'//  risk 
it,  if  you  dare  n't.  Let  me  succeed,  and  you  can  hang 
me  and  take  the  girl  yourself." 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down.  Don't  be  a  fool,  Jim  Dunn ! 
You  would  n't  keep  the  saddle  a  hundred  yards.  Did  I 
say  I  would  n't  help  you  ?  No.  If  you  're  willing,  we  '11 
run  the  risk  together,  but  it  must  be  in  my  way.  Hear 
me.  I  '11  drive  you  down  there  in  a  buggy  before  day 
light,  and  we  '11  surprise  them  in  the  cabin  or  as  they 
leave  the  wood.  But  you  must  come  as  if  to  arrest  him 
for  some  offense  —  say,  as  an  escaped  Digger  from  the 
Reservation,  a  dangerous  tramp,  a  destroyer  of  public 
property  in  the  forests,  a  suspected  road  agent,  or  anything 
to  give  you  the  right  to  hunt  him.  The  exposure  of  him 
and  Nellie,  don't  you  see,  must  be  accidental.  If  he 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  179 

resists,  kill  him  on  the  spot,  and  nobody  '11  blame  you  ;  if 
he  goes  peaceably  with  you,  and  you  once  get  him  in  Ex 
celsior  jail,  when  the  story  gets  out  that  he  's  taken  the 
belle  of  Excelsior  for  his  squaw,  if  you  'd  the  angels  for 
your  posse  you  could  n't  keep  the  boys  from  hanging  him 
to  the  first  tree.  What 's  that  ? " 

He  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out  cautiously. 

"  If  it  was  the  old  man  coming  back  and  listening," 
he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  it  can't  be  helped.  He  '11  hear  it 
soon  enough,  if  he  don't  suspect  something  already." 

"  Look  yer,  Brace,"  broke  in  Dunn  hoarsely.  "D — d 
if  I  understand  you  or  you  me.  That  dog  Low  has  got 
to  answer  to  me,  not  to  the  law  !  I  '11  take  my  risk  of 
killing  him,  on  sight  and  on  the  square.  I  don't  reckon 
to  handicap  myself  with  a  warrant,  and  I  am  not  going 
to  draw  him  out  with  a  lie.  You  hear  me  ?  That 's  me 
all  the  time  !  " 

"Then  you  calkilate  to  go  down  thar,"  said  Brace  con 
temptuously,  "yell  out  for  him  and  Nellie,  and  let  him 
line  you  on  a  rest  from  the  first  tree  as  if  you  were  a 
grizzly." 

There  was  a  pause.  "What's  that  you  were  saying 
just  now  about  a  bearskin  he  sold  ?  "  asked  Dunn  slowly, 
as  if  reflecting. 

"He  exchanged  a  bearskin,"  replied  Brace,  "with  a 
single  hole  right  over  the  heart.  He  's  a  dead  shot,  I  tell 
you." 

"  D — n  his  shooting,"  said  Dunn.  "  I  'm  not  thinking 
of  that.  How  long  ago  did  he  bring  in  that  bearskin  ?  " 

"  About  two  weeks,  I  reckon.     Why  ? " 

"  Nothing  !  Look  yer,  Brace,  you  mean  well  —  thar 's 
my  hand.  I  '11  go  down  with  you  there,  but  not  as  the 
sheriff.  I  'm  going  there  as  Jim  Dunn,  and  you  can 
come  along  as  a  white  man,  to  see  things  fixed  on  the 
square.  Come  !  " 


180  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

Brace  hesitated.  You  '11  think  better  of  my  plan  before 
you  get  there ;  but  I  Ve  said  I  'd  stand  by  you,  and  I  will. 
Come,  then.  There  's  no  time  to  lose." 

They  passed  out  into  the  darkness  together. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  "  said  Dunn  impatiently, 
as  Brace,  who  was  supporting  him  by  the  arm,  suddenly 
halted  at  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"  Some  one  was  listening  —  did  you  not  see  him  ?  Was 
it  the  old  man  ? "  asked  Brace  hurriedly. 

"  Blast  the  old  man  !  It  was  only  one  of  them  Mexi 
can  packers  chock-full  of  whiskey,  and  trying  to  hold 
up  the  house.  What  are  you  thinking  of?  We  shall  be 
late." 

In  spite  of  his  weakness,  the  wounded  man  hurriedly 
urged  Brace  forward,  until  they  reached  the  latter's  lodg 
ings.  To  his  surprise,  the  horse  and  buggy  were  already 
before  the  door. 

"Then  you  reckoned  to  go,  any  way?"  said  Dunn, 
with  a  searching  look  at  his  companion. 

"I  calkilated  somebody  would  go,"  returned  Brace, 
evasively,  patting  the  impatient  Buckskin ;  "  but  come  in 
and  take  a  drink  before  we  leave." 

Dunn  started  out  of  a  momentary  abstraction,  put  his 
hand  on  his  hip,  and  mechanically  entered  the  house. 
They  had  scarcely  raised  the  glasses  to  their  lips  when  a 
sudden  rattle  of  wheels  was  heard  in  the  street.  Brace 
set  down  his  glass  and  ran  to  the  window. 

"  It 's  the  mare  bolted,"  he  said,  with  an  oath. 
"  \ye  'Ve  kept  her  too  long  standing.  Follow  me ;  "  and 
he  dashed  down  the  staircase  into  the  street.  Dunn  fol 
lowed  with  difficulty ;  when  he  reached  the  door  he  was 
confronted  by  his  breathless  companion.  She  's  gone  off 
on  a  run,  and  I  '11  swear  there  was  a  man  in  the  buggy ! " 
He  stopped  and  examined  the  halter-strap,  still  fastened 
to  the  fence.  "  Cut !  by  God  !  " 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  181 

Dunn  turned  pale  with  passion.  "  Who  's  got  another 
horse  and  buggy  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  The  new  blacksmith  in  Main  Street ,'  but  we  won't 
get  it  by  borrowing,"  said  Brace. 

"  How,  then  ?  "  asked  Dunn  savagely. 

"  Seize  it,  as  the  sheriff  of  Yuba  and  his  deputy,  pur 
suing  a  confederate  of  the  Injin  Low  —  THE  HORSE 

THIEF  1  " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  brief  hour  of  darkness  that  preceded  the  dawn 
was  that  night  intensified  by  a  dense  smoke,  which,  after 
blotting  out  horizon  and  sky,  dropped  a  thick  veil  on  the 
highroad  and  the  silent  streets  of  Indian  Spring.  As 
the  buggy  containing  Sheriff  Dunn  and  Brace  dashed 
through  the  obscurity,  Brace  suddenly  turned  to  his 
companion. 

"  Some  one  ahead  !  " 

The  two  men  bent  forward  over  the  dashboard.  Above 
the  steady  plunging  of  their  own  horse-hoofs  they  could 
hear  the  quicker  irregular  beat  of  other  hoofs  in  the 
darkness  before  them. 

"  It 's  that  horse  thief  !  "  said  Dunn,  in  a  savage  whisper. 
"  Bear  to  the  right,  and  hand  me  the  whip." 

A  dozen  cuts  of  the  cruel  lash,  and  their  maddened 
horse,  bounding  at  each  stroke,  broke  into  a  wild  canter. 
The  frail  vehicle  swayed  from  side  to  side  at  each  spring 
of  the  elastic  shafts.  Steadying  himself  by  one  hand  on 
the  low  rail,  Dunn  drew  his  revolver  with  the  other. 
"  Sing  out  to  him  to  pull  up,  or  we  '11  fire.  My  voice  is 
clean  gone,"  he  added,  in  a  husky  whisper. 

They  were  so  near  that  they  could  distinguish  the  bulk 
of  a  vehicle  careering  from  side  to  side  in  the  blackness 
ahead.  Dunn  deliberately  raised  his  weapon.  "  Sing 
out !  "  he  repeated  impatiently.  But  Brace,  who  was  still 
keeping  in  the  shadow,  suddenly  grasped  his  companion's 
arm. 

"  Hush !     It 's  not  Buckskin,"  he  whispered  hurriedly. 

"  Are  you  sure  ? " 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  183 

"  Don't  you  see  we  're  gaining  on  him  ?  "  replied  the 
other  contemptuously.  Dunn  grasped  his  companion's 
hand  and  pressed  it  silently.  Even  in  that  supreme 
moment  this  horseman's  tribute  to  the  fugitive  Buckskin 
forestalled  all  baser  considerations  of  pursuit  and  cap 
ture  ! 

In  twenty  seconds  they  were  abreast  of  the  stranger, 
crowding  his  horse  and  buggy  nearly  into  the  ditch ; 
Brace  keenly  watchful,  Dunn  suppressed  and  pale.  In 
half  a  minute  they  were  leading  him  a  length ;  and  when 
their  horse  again  settled  down  to  his  steady  work,  the 
stranger  was  already  lost  in  the  circling  dust  that  fol 
lowed  them.  But  the  victors  seemed  disappointed.  The 
obscurity  had  completely  hidden  all  but  the  vague  out 
lines  of  the  mysterious  driver. 

"  He 's  not  our  game,  any  way,"  whispered  Dunn. 
"  Drive  on." 

"But  if  it  was  some  friend  of  his,"  suggested  Brace 
uneasily,  "  what  would  you  do  ? " 

"  What  I  said  I  'd  do,"  responded  Dunn  savagely.  "  I 
don't  want  five  minutes  to  do  it  in,  either  ;  we  '11  be  half 
an  hour  ahead  of  that  d — d  fool,  whoever  he  is.  Look 
here ;  all  you  've  got  to  do  is  to  put  me  in  the  trail  to  that 
cabin.  Stand  back  of  me,  out  of  gun-shot,  alone,  if  you 
like,  as  my  deputy,  or  with  any  number  you  can  pick  up 
as  my  posse.  If  he  gets  by  me  as  Nellie's  lover,  you  may 
shoot  him  or  take  him  as  a  horse  thief,  if  you  like." 

"  Then  you  won't  shoot  him  on  sight  ?  " 

"  Not  till  I  Ve  had  a  word  with  him." 

"But"  — 

"  I  've  chirped,"  said  the  sheriff  gravely.     "  Drive  on." 

For  a  few  moments  only  the  plunging  hoofs  and  rat 
tling  wheels  were  heard.  A  dull,  lurid  glow  began  to 
define  the  horizon.  They  were  silent  until  an  abatement 
of  the  smoke,  the  vanishing  of  the  gloomy  horizon  line, 


184  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

and  a  certain  impenetrability  in  the  darkness  ahead 
showed  them  they  were  nearing  the  Carquinez  Woods. 
But  they  were  surprised  on  entering  them  to  find  the  dim 
aisles  alight  with  a  faint  mystic  Aurora.  The  tops  of  the 
towering  spires  above  them  had  caught  the  gleam  of  the 
distant  forest  fires,  and  reflected  it  as  from  a  gilded 
dome. 

"  It  would  be  hot  work  if  the  Carquinez  Woods  should 
conclude  to  take  a  hand  in  this  yer  little  game  that 's  go 
ing  on  over  on  the  Divide  yonder,"  said  Brace,  securing 
his  horse  and  glancing  at  the  spires  overhead.  "  I  reckon 
I  'd  rather  take  a  backseat  at  Injin  Spring  when  the  show 
commences." 

Dunn  did  not  reply,  but,  buttoning  his  coat,  placed  one 
hand  on  his  companion's  shoulder,  and  sullenly  bade  him 
"lead  the  way."  Advancing  slowly  and  with  difficulty, 
the  desperate  man  might  have  been  taken  for  a  peaceful 
invalid  returning  from  an  early  morning  stroll.  His  right 
hand  was  buried  thoughtfully  in  the  side-pocket  of  his 
coat.  Only  Brace  knew  that  it  rested  on  the  handle  of 
his  pistol. 

From  time  to  time  the  latter  stopped  and  consulted  the 
faint  trail  with  a  minuteness  that  showed  recent  careful 
study.  Suddenly  he  paused.  "  I  made  a  blaze  here 
abouts  to  show  where  to  leave  the  trail.  There  it  is,"  he 
added,  pointing  to  a  slight  notch  cut  in  the  trunk  of  an 
adjoining  tree. 

"But  we've  just  passed  one,"  said  Dunn,  "if  that's 
what  you  are  looking  after,  a  hundred  yards  back." 

Brace  uttered  an  oath,  and  ran  back  in  the  direction 
signified  by  his  companion.  Presently  he  returned  with 
a  smile  of  triumph. 

"  They  Ve  suspected  something.  It 's  a  clever  trick, 
but  it  won't  hold  water.  That  blaze  which  was  done  to 
muddle  you  was  cut  with  an  axe  ;  this  which  I  made  was 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  185 

done  with  a  bowie-knife.  It 's  the  real  one.  We  're  not 
far  off  now.  Come  on." 

They  proceeded  cautiously,  at  right  angles  Vith  the 
"  blazed  "  tree,  for  ten  minutes  more.  The  heat  was  op 
pressive  ;  drops  of  perspiration  rolled  from  the  forehead 
of  the  sheriff,  and  at  times,  when  he  attempted  to  steady 
his  uncertain  limbs,  his  hands  shrank  from  the  heated, 
blistering  bark  he  touched  with  ungloved  palms. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Brace,  pausing  at  last.  "  Do 
you  see  that  biggest  tree,  with  the  root  stretching  out 
half-way  across  to  the  opposite  one  ? " 

"  No  j  it 's  further  to  the  right  and  abreast  of  the  dead 
brush,"  interrupted  Dunn  quickly,  with  a  sudden  revela 
tion  that  this  was  the  spot  where  he  had  found  the  dead 
bear  in  the  night  Teresa  escaped. 

"  That  's  so,"  responded  Brace,  in  astonishment. 

"  And  the  opening  is  on  the  other  side,  opposite  the 
dead  brush,"  said  Dunn. 

"  Then  you  know  it  ?  "  said  Brace  suspiciously. 

"  I  reckon  ! "  responded  Dunn,  grimly.  "  That  's 
enough  !  Fall  back  !  " 

To  the  surprise  of  his  companion,  he  lifted  his  head 
erect,  and  with  a  strong,  firm  step  walked  directly  to  the 
tree.  Reaching  it,  he  planted  himself  squarely  before 
the  opening. 

"  Halloo  !  "  he  said. 

There  was  no  reply.  A  squirrel  scampered  away  close 
to  his  feet.  Brace,  far  in  the  distance,  after  an  ineffect 
ual  attempt  to  distinguish  his  companion  through  the 
intervening  trunks,  took  off  his  coat,  leaned  against  a 
tree,  and  lit  a  cigar. 

"  Come  out  of  that  cabin  !  "  continued  Dunn,  in  a 
clear,  resonant  voice.  "  Come  out  before  I  drag  you 
out !  " 

"  All  right, '  Captain  Scott.'   Don't  shoot,  and  I'll  come 


1 86  In  the  Carquinez  Woods. 

down,"  said  a  voice  as  clear  and  as  high  as  his  own. 
The  hanging  strips  of  bark  were  dashed  aside,  and  a 
woman  leaped  lightly  to  the  ground. 

Dunn  staggered  back.     "  Teresa  !  by  the  Eternal !  " 

It  was  Teresa !  the  old  Teresa !  Teresa,  a  hundred 
times  more  vicious,  reckless,  hysterical,  extravagant,  and 
outrageous  than  before,  —  Teresa,  staring  with  tooth  and 
eye,  sunburnt  and  embrowned,  her  hair  hanging  down 
her  shoulders,  and  her  shawl  drawn  tightly  around  her 
neck. 

"  Teresa  it  is !  the  same  old  gal !  Here  we  are  again  ! 
Return  of  the  favorite  in  her  original  character  !  For 
two  weeks  only  !  Houp  la  !  Tshk  !  "  and,  catching  her 
yellow  skirt  with  her  fingers,  she  pirouetted  before  the 
astounded  man,  and  ended  in  a  pose.  Recovering  him 
self  with  an  effort,  Dunn  dashed  forward  and  seized  her 
by  the  wrist. 

"  Answer  me,  woman  !    Is  that  Low's  cabin  ? " 

"  It  is.  " 

"  Who  occupies  it  besides  ? " 

"  I  do.  " 

«  And  who  else  ?  " 

11  Well,"  drawled  Teresa  slowly,  with  an  extravagant 
affectation  of  modesty,  "  nobody  else  but  us,  I  reckon. 
Two  's  company,  you  know,  and  three  's  none." 

"  Stop  !  Will  you  swear  that  there  is  n't  a  young  girl, 
his  —  his  sweetheart  —  concealed  there  with  you  ?  " 

The  fire  in  Teresa's  eye  was  genuine  as  she  answered 
steadily,  "  Well,  it  ain't  my  style  to  put  up  with  that  sort 
of  thing;  at  least,  it  was  n't  over  at  Yolo,  and  you  know 
it,  Jim  Dunn,  or  I  would  n't  be  here." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Dunn  hurriedly.  "  But  I  'm  a  d— d 
fool,  or  worse,  the  fool  of  a  fool.  Tell  me,  Teresa,  is 
this  man  Low  your  lover  ?  " 

Teresa  lowered  her  eyes  as  if  in   maidenly  confusion. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  187 

"  Well,  if  I  'd  known  that  you  had  any  feeling  of  your 
own  about  it  —  if  you  'd  spoken  sooner  "  — 

"  Answer  me,  you  devil !  " 

"He  is." 

"And  he  has  been  with  you  here  —  yesterday — to 
night  ? " 

"  He  has." 

"  Enough."  He  laughed  a  weak,  foolish  laugh,  and 
turning  pale,  suddenly  lapsed  against  a  tree.  He  would 
have  fallen,  but  with  a  quick  instinct  Teresa  sprang  to 
his  side,  and  supported  him  gently  to  a  root.  The  action 
over  they  both  looked  astounded. 

"  I  reckon  that  was  n't  much  like  either  you  or  me," 
said  Dunn  slowly,  "  was  it  ?  But  if  you  'd  let  me  drop 
then  you  'd  have  stretched  out  the  biggest  fool  in  the  Sier 
ras."  He  paused,  and  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  What 's 
come  over  you  ;  blessed  if  I  seem  to  know  you  now." 

She  was  very  pale  again,  and  quiet ;  that  was  all. 

"  Teresa  !  d — n  it,  look  here  !  When  I  was  laid  up 
yonder  in  Excelsior  I  said  I  wanted  to  get  well  for  only 
two  things.  One  was  to  hunt  you  down,  the  other  to 
marry  Nellie  Wynn.  When  I  came  here  I  thought  that 
last  thing  could  never  be.  I  came  here  expecting  to  find 
her  here  with  Low,  and  kill  him  —  perhaps  kill  her  too. 
I  never  even  thought  of  you  ;  not  once.  You  might  have 
risen  up  before  me  —  between  me  and  him  —  and  I  'd 
have  passed  you  by.  And  now  that  I  find  it 's  all  a  mis 
take,  and  it  was  you,  not  her,  I  was  looking  for,  why  "  — 

"  Why,"  she  interrupted  bitterly,  "  you  '11  just  take  me, 
of  course,  to  save  your  time  and  earn  your  salary.  I  'm 
ready." 

"But  I'm  not,  just  yet,"  he  said  faintly.  "Help 
me  up."  She  mechanically  assisted  him  to  his  feet. 

"  Now  stand  where  you  are,"  he  added,  "  and  don't 
move  beyond  this  tree  till  I  return." 


1 88  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

He  straightened  himself  with  an  effort,  clenched  his 
fists  until  the  nails  were  nearly  buried  in  his  palms,  and 
strode  with  a  firm,  steady  step  in  the  direction  he  had 
come.  In  a  few  moments  he  returned  and  stood  before 
her. 

"I  Ve  sent  away  my  deputy  —  the  man  who  brought 
me  here,  the  fool  who  thought  you  were  Nellie.  He 
knows  now  he  made  a  mistake.  But  who  it  was  he  mis 
took  for  Nellie  he  does  not  know,  nor  shall  ever  know, 
nor  shall  any  living  being  know,  other  than  myself.  And 
when  I  leave  the  wood  to-day  I  shall  know  it  no  longer. 
You  are  safe  here  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  but  I  cannot 
screen  you  from  others  prying.  Let  Low  take  you  away 
from  here  as  soon  as  he  can." 

"  Let  him  take  me  away  ?     Ah,  yes.     For  what  ?  " 

"  To  save  you,"  said  Dunn.  "  Look  here,  Teresa  ! 
Without  knowing  it,  you  lifted  me  out  of  hell  just  now ; 
and  because  of  the  wrong  I  might  have  done  her  — •  for 
her  sake,  I  spare  you  and  shirk  my  duty." 

"  For  her  sake  !  "  gasped  the  woman  —  "  for  her  sake  ! 
Oh,  yes  !  Go  on." 

"  Well,"  said  Dunn  gloomily,  "  I  reckon  perhaps  you  'd 
as  lieve  left  me  in  hell,  for  all  the  love  you  bear  me. 
And  maybe  you  Ve  grudge  enough  agin  me  still  to  wish 
I'd  found  her  and  him  together." 

"You  think  so ?  "  she  said,  turning  her  head  away. 

"  There,  d — n  it !  I  did  n't  mean  to  make  you  cry. 
Maybe  you  would  n't,  then.  Only  tell  that  fellow  to  take 
you  out  of  this,  and  not  run  away  the  next  time  he  sees  a 
man  coming." 

"  He  did  n't  run,"  said  Teresa,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I 
—  I  —  I  sent  him  away,"  she  stammered.  Then,  sud 
denly  turning  with  fury  upon  him,  she  broke  out,  "  Run  ! 
Run  from  you !  Ha,  ha !  You  said  just  now  I  'd  a  grudge 
against  you.  Well,  listen,  Jim  Dunn.  I  'd  only  to  bring 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  189 

you  in  range  of  that  young  man's  rifle,  and  you  'd  have 
dropped  in  your  tracks  like  "  — 

"  Like  that  bar,  the  other  night,"  said  Dunn,  with  a 
short  laugh.  "  So  that  was  your  little  game  ? "  He 
checked  his  laugh  suddenly  —  a  cloud  passed  over  his 
face.  "  Look  here,  Teresa,"  he  said,  with  an  assumption 
of  carelessness  that  was  as  transparent  as  it  was  utterly 
incompatible  with  his  frank,  open  selfishness.  "What 
became  of  that  bar  ?  The  skin  —  eh  ?  That  was  worth 
something  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Teresa  quietly.  "  Low  exchanged  it  and 
got  a  ring  for  me  from  that  trader  Isaacs.  It  was  worth 
more,  you  bet.  And  the  ring  did  n't  fit  either  "  — 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Dunn,  with  an  almost  childish  eager 
ness. 

"  And  I  made  him  take  it  back,  and  get  the  value  in 
money.  I  hear  that  Isaacs  sold  it  again  and  made  an 
other  profit ;  but  that 's  like  those  traders."  The  disin 
genuous  candor  of  Teresa's  manner  was  in  exquisite  con 
trast  to  Dunn.  He  rose  and  grasped  her  hand  so  heartily 
she  was  forced  to  turn  her  eyes  away. 

"  Good-by !  "  he  said. 

"You  look  tired,"  she  murmured,  with  a  sudden  gentle 
ness  that  surprised  him  ;  "  let  me  go  with  you  a  part  of 
the  way." 

"  It  is  n't  safe  for  you  just  now,"  he  said,  thinking  of 
the  possible  consequences  of  the  alarm  Brace  had  raised. 

"Not  the  way  you  came,"  she  replied  ;  "but  one  known 
only  to  myself." 

He  hesitated  only  a  moment.  "  All  right,  then,"  he 
said  finally ;  "  let  us  go  at  once.  It 's  suffocating  here, 
and  I  seem  to  feel  this  dead  bark  crinkle  under  my 
feet." 

She  cast  a  rapid  glance  around  her,  and  then  seemed 
to  sound  with  her  eyes  the  far-off  depths  of  the  aisles, 


190  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

beginning  to  grow  pale  with  the  advancing  day,  but  still 
holding  a  strange  quiver  of  heat  in  the  air.  When  she 
had  finished  her  half  abstracted  scrutiny  of  the  distance, 
she  cast  one  backward  glance  at  her  own  cabin  and 
stopped. 

"  Will  you  wait  a  moment  for  me  ?  "  she  asked  gently. 

"  Yes  —  but  —  no  tricks,  Teresa  !  It  is  n't  worth  the 
time." 

She  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes  without  a  word. 

"  Enough,"  he  said  ;  "  go  !  " 

She  was  absent  for  some  moments.  He  was  beginning 
to  become  uneasy,  when  she  made  her  appearance  again, 
clad  in  her  old  faded  black  dress.  Her  face  was  very 
pale,  and  her  eyes  were  swollen,  but  she  placed  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder,  and  bidding  him  not  to  fear  to  lean  upon 
her,  for  she  was  quite  strong,  led  the  way. 

"You  look  more  like  yourself  now,  and  yet  —  blast  it 
all! — you  don't  either,"  said  Dunn,  looking  down  upon 
her.  "  You  Ve  changed  in  some  way.  What  is  it  ?  Is 
it  on  account  of  that  Injin  ?  Could  n't  you  have  found  a 
white  man  in  his  place  ? " 

"  I  reckon  he 's  neither  worse  nor  better  for  that,"  she 
replied  bitterly  ;  "  and  perhaps  he  was  n't  as  particular  in 
his  taste  as  a  white  man  might  have  been.  But,"  she 
added,  with  a  sudden  spasm  of  her  old  rage,  "  it 's  a  lie  ; 
he  's  not  an  Indian,  no  more  than  I  am.  Not  unless  be 
ing  born  of  a  mother  who  scarcely  knew  him,  of  a  father 
who  never  even  saw  him,  and  being  brought  up  among 
white  men  and  wild  beasts  less  cruel  than  they  were, 
could  make  him  one  !  " 

Dunn  looked  at  her  in  surprise  not  unmixed  with  ad 
miration.  "  If  Nellie,"  he  thought,  "  could  but  love  me 
like  that !  "  But  he  only  said  : 

"  For  all  that,  he  's  an  Injin.  Why,  look  at  his  name. 
It  ain't  Low.  It 's  L'Eau  Dormante,  Sleeping  Water,  an 
Injin  name." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  191 

"  And  what  does  that  prove  ? "  returned  Teresa.  "  Only 
that  Indians  clap  a  nickname  on  any  stranger,  white  or 
red,  who  may  camp  with  them.  Why,  even  his  own  fa 
ther,  a  white  man,  the  wretch  who  begot  him  and  aban 
doned  him,  —  he  had  an  Indian  name  —  Loup  Noir" 

"  What  name  did  you  say  ? " 

"  Le  Loup  Noir,  the  Black  Wolf.  I  suppose  you  'd  call 
him  an  Indian,  too  ?  Eh  ?  What 's  the  matter  ?  We  're 
walking  too  fast.  Stop  a  moment  and  rest.  There  — 
there,  lean  on  me  !  " 

She  was  none  too  soon  ;  for,  after  holding  him  upright 
a  moment,  his  limbs  failed,  and  stooping  gently  she  was 
obliged  to  support  him  half  reclining  against  a  tree. 

"  It 's  the  heat !  "  he  said.  "  Give  me  some  whiskey 
from  my  flask.  Never  mind  the  water,"  he  added  faintly, 
with  a  forced  laugh,  after  he  had  taken  a  draught  at  the 
strong  spirit.  *'  Tell  me  more  about  the  other  water  — 
the  Sleeping  Water,  you  know.  How  do  you  know  all 
this  about  him  and  his  —  father  ?  " 

"  Partly  from  him  and  partly  from  Curson,  who  wrote 
to  me  about  him,"  she  answered,  with  some  hesitation. 

But  Dunn  did  not  seem  to  notice  this  incongruity  of 
correspondence  with  a  former  lover.  "  And  he  told 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes  j  and  I  saw  the  name  on  an  old  memorandum- 
book  he  has,  which  he  says  belonged  to  his  father.  It 's 
full  of  old  accounts  of  some  trading  post  on  the  frontier. 
It 's  been  missing  for  a  day  or  two,  but  it  will  turn  up. 
But  I  can  swear  I  saw  it." 

Dunn  attempted  to  rise  to  his  feet.  "  Put  your  hand  in 
my  pocket,"  he  said  in  a  hurried  whisper.  "  No,  there  ! 
—  bring  out  a  book.  There,  I  have  n't  looked  at  it  yet. 
Is  that  it  ?  "  he  added,  handing  her  the  book  Brace  had 
given  him  a  few  hours  before. 

"  Yes,"  said  Teresa,  in  surprise.  "  Where  did  you  find 
it?" 


1 92  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"  Never  mind  !  Now  let  me  see  it,  quick.  Open  it, 
for  my  sight  is  failing.  There  —  thank  you  —  that 's 
all!" 

"  Take  more  whiskey,"  said  Teresa,  with  a  strange 
anxiety  creeping  over  her.  >  "  You  are  faint  again." 

"  Wait !  Listen,  Teresa  —  lower  —  put  your  ear  lower. 
Listen !  I  came  near  killing  that  chap  Low  to-day. 
Would  n't  it  have  been  ridiculous  ?  " 

He  tried  to  smile,  but  his  head  fell  back.  He  had 
fainted. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

FOR  the  first  time  in  her  life  Teresa  lost  her  presence  of 
mind  in  an  emergency.  She  could  only  sit  staring  at  the 
helpless  man,  scarcely  conscious  of  his  condition,  her 
mind  filled  with  a  sudden  prophetic  intuition  of  the  sig 
nificance  of  his  last  words.  In  the  light  of  that  new  rev 
elation  she  looked  into  his  pale,  haggard  face  for  some 
resemblance  to  Low,  but  in  vain.  Yet  her  swift  feminine 
instinct  met  the  objection.  "  It 's  the  mother's  blood  that 
would  show,"  she  murmured,  "  not  this  man's." 

Recovering  herself,  she  began  to  chafe  his  hands  and 
temples,  and  moistened  his  lips  with  the  spirit.  When 
his  respiration  returned  with  a  faint  color  to  his  cheeks, 
she  pressed  his  hand  eagerly  and  leaned  over  him. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Of  what  ?  "  he  whispered  faintly. 

"  That  Low  is  really  your  son  ? " 

"  Who  said  so  ? "  he  asked,  opening  his  round  eyes 
upon  her. 

"  You  did  yourself,  a  moment  ago,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  Don't  you  remember  ? " 

"  Did  I  ? " 

"  You  did.     Is  it  so  ? " 

He  smiled  faintly.     "  I  reckon." 

She  held  her  breath  in  expectation.  But  only  the  ludi- 
crousness  of  the  discovery  seemed  paramount  to  his  weak 
ened  faculties.  "  Is  n't  it  just  about  the  ridiculousest  thing 
all  round  ? "  he  said,  with  a  feeble  chuckle.  "  First  you 
nearly  kill  me  before  you  know  I  am  Low's  father ;  then 
I  'm  just  spoilin'  to  kill  him  before  I  know  he  's  my  son  ; 


194  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

then  that  god-forsaken  fool  Jack  Brace  mistakes  you  for 
Nellie,  and  Nellie  for  you.  Ain't  it  just  the  biggest  thing 
for  the  boys  to  get  hold  of  ?  But  we  must  keep  it  dark 
until  after  I  marry  Nellie,  don't  you  see  ?  Then  we  '11 
have  a  good  time  all  round,  and  I  '11  stand  the  drinks. 
Think  of  it,  Teresha  !  You  don'  no  me,  I  do'  no  you,  no 
body  knowsh  anybody  elsh.  I  try  kill  Lo'.  Lo'  wants 
kill  Nellie.  No  thath  no  ri' "  —  but  the  potent  liquor, 
overtaking  his  exhausted  senses,  thickened,  impeded,  and 
at  last  stopped  his  speech.  His  head  slipped  to  her 
shoulder,  and  he  became  once  more  unconscious. 

Teresa  breathed  again.  In  that  brief  moment  she  had 
abandoned  herself  to  a  wild  inspiration  of  hope  which  she 
could  scarcely  define.  Not  that  it  was  entirely  a  wild  in 
spiration  ;  she  tried  to  reason  calmly.  What  if  she  re 
vealed  the  truth  to  him  ?  What  if  she  told  the  wretched 
man  before  her  that  she  had  deceived  him  ;  that  she  had 
overheard  his  conversation  with  Brace ;  that  she  had 
stolen  Brace's  horse  to  bring  Low  warning  ;  that,  failing  to 
find  Low  in  his  accustomed  haunts,  or  at  the  camp-fire, 
she  had  left  a  note  for  him  pinned  to  the  herbarium,  im 
ploring  him  to  fly  with  his  companion  from  the  danger  that 
was  coming  ;  and  that,  remaining  on  watch,  she  had  seen 
them  both  —  Brace  and  Dunn  —  approaching,  and  had 
prepared  to  meet  them  at  the  cabin  ?  Would  this  miser 
able  and  maddened  man  understand  her  self-abnegation  ? 
Would  he  forgive  Low  and  Nellie  ?  —  she  did  not  ask  for 
herself.  Or  would  the  revelation  turn  his  brain,  if  it  did 
not  kill  him  outright  ?  She  looked  at  the  sunken  orbits 
of  his  eyes  and  hectic  on  his  cheek,  and  shuddered. 

Why  was  this  added  to  the  agony  she  already  suffered  ? 
She  had  been  willing  to  stand  between  them  with  her  life, 
her  liberty  and  even  —  the  hot  blood  dyed  her  cheek  at 
the  thought  —  with  the  added  shame  of  being  thought  the 
cast-off  mistress  of  that  man's  son.  Yet  all  this  she  had 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  195 

taken  upon  herself  in  expiation  of  something  —  she  knew 
not  clearly  what ;  no,  for  nothing  —  only  for  him.  And 
yet  this  very  situation  offered  her  that  gleam  of  hope  which 
had  thrilled  her ;  a  hope  so  wild  in  its  improbability,  so 
degrading  in  its  possibility,  that  at  first  she  knew  not 
whether  despair  was  not  preferable  to  its  shame.  And  yet 
was  it  unreasonable  ?  She  was  no  longer  passionate  j  she 
would  be  calm  and  think  it  out  fairly. 

She  would  go  to  Low  at  once.  She  would  find  him 
somewhere  —  and  even  if  with  that  girl,  what  mattered  ?  — 
and  she  would  tell  him  all.  When  he  knew  that  the  life 
and  death  of  his  father  lay  in  the  scale,  would  he  let  his 
brief,  foolish  passion  for  Nellie  stand  in  the  way  ?  Even 
if  he  were  not  influenced  by  filial  affection  or  mere  com 
passion,  would  his  pride  let  him  stoop  to  a  rivalry  with 
the  man  who  had  deserted  his  youth  ?  Could  he  take 
Dunn's  promised  bride,  who  must  have  coquetted  with 
him  to  have  brought  him  to  this  miserable  plight  ?  Was 
this  like  the  calm,  proud  young  god  she  knew  ?  Yet  she 
had  an  uneasy  instinct  that  calm,  proud  young  gods  and 
goddesses  did  things  like  this,  and  felt  the  weakness  of 
her  reasoning  flush  her  own  conscious  cheek. 

"Teresa!" 

She  started.  Dunn  was  awake,  and  was  gazing  at  her 
curiously. 

"  I  was  reckoning  it  was  the  only  square  thing  for  Low 
to  stop  this  promiscuous  picnicking  here  and  marry  you 
out  and  out." 

"  Marry  me  !  "  said  Teresa  in  a  voice  that,  with  all  her 
efforts,  she  could  not  make  cynical. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  "  after  I  Ve  married  Nellie  ;  tote 
you  down  to  San  Angeles,  and  there  take  my  name  like  a 
man,  and  give  it  to  you.  Nobody '11  ask  after  Teresa, 
sure  —  you  bet  your  life.  And  if  they  do,  and  he  can't 
stop  their  jaw,  just  you  call  on  the  old  man.  It 's  mighty 


196  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

queer,  ain't  it,  Teresa,  to  think  of  you  being  my  daughter- 
in-law?" 

It  seemed  here  as  if  he  was  about  to  lapse  again  into 
unconsciousness  over  the  purely  ludicrous  aspect  of  the 
subject,  but  he  haply  recovered  his  seriousness.  "  He  '11 
have  as  much  money  from  me  as  he  wants  to  go  into 
business  with.  What 's  his  line  of  business,  Teresa  ?  " 
asked  this  prospective  father-in-law,  in  a  large,  liberal  way. 

"  He  is  a  botanist !  "  said  Teresa,  with  a  sudden  child 
ish  animation  that  seemed  to  keep  up  the  grim  humor  of 
the  paternal  suggestion ;  "  and  oh,  he  is  too  poor  to  buy 
books  !  I  sent  for  one  or  two  for  him  myself,  the  other 
day  "  —  she  hesitated  —  "  it  was  all  the  money  I  had, 
but  it  was  n't  enough  for  him  to  go  on  with  his  studies." 

Dunn  looked  at  her  sparkling  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks, 
and  became  thoughtful.  "  Curson  must  have  been  a 
d — d  fool,"  he  said  finally. 

Teresa  remained  silent.  She  was  beginning  to  be  im 
patient  and  uneasy,  fearing  some  mischance  that  might 
delay  her  dreaded  yet  longed-for  meeting  with  Low.  Yet 
she  could  not  leave  this  sick  and  exhausted  man,  his 
father,  now  bound  to  her  by  more  than  mere  humanity. 

"  Could  n't  you  manage,"  she  said  gently,  "  to  lean  on 
me  a  few  steps  further,  until  I  could  bring  you  to  a  cooler 
spot  and  nearer  assistance  ?  " 

He  nodded.  She  lifted  him  almost  like  a  child  to  his 
feet.  A  spasm  of  pain  passed  over  his  face.  "  How  far 
is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  more  than  ten  minutes,"  she  replied. 

"  I  can  make  a  spurt  for  that  time,"  he  said  coolly,  and 
began  to  walk  slowly  but  steadily  on.  Only  his  face, 
which  was  white  and  set,  and  the  convulsive  grip  of  his 
hand  on  her  arm,  betrayed  the  effort.  At  the  end  of  ten 
minutes  she  stopped.  They  stood  before  the  splintered, 
lightning-scarred  shaft  in  the  opening  of  the  woods, 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  197 

where  Low  had  built  her  first  camp-fire.  She  carefully 
picked  up  the  herbarium,  but  her  quick  eye  had  already 
detected  in  the  distance,  before  she  had  allowed  Dunn  to 
enter  the  opening  with  her,  that  her  note  was  gone.  Low 
had  been  there  before  them ;  he  had  been  warned,  as  his 
absence  from  the  cabin  showed ;  he  would  not  return 
there.  They  were  free  from  interruption  —  but  where 
had  he  gone  ? 

The  sick  man  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  she  seated 
him  in  the  clover-grown  hollow  where  she  had  slept  the 
second  night  of  her  stay.  "  It 's  cooler  than  those  cursed 
woods,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  it 's  because  it 's  a  little  like 
a  grave.  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ? "  he  added, 
as  she  brought  a  cup  of  water  and  placed  it  at  his  side. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  you  here  for  a  little  while,"  she 
said  cheerfully,  but  with  a  pale  face  and  nervous  hands. 
"  I  'm  going  to  leave  you  while  I  seek  Low." 

The  sick  man  raised  his  head.  "  I  'm  good  for  a  spurt, 
Teresa,  like  that  I  Ve  just  got  through,  but  I  don't  think 
I  'm  up  to  a  family  party.  Could  n't  you  issue  cards  later 
on?" 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said.  "  I  'm  going  to  get 
Low  to  send  some  one  of  your  friends  to  you  here.  I 
don't  think  he  '11  begrudge  leaving  her  a  moment  for 
that,"  she  added  to  herself  bitterly. 

"  What 's  that  you  're  saying  ?  "  he  queried,  with  the 
nervous  quickness  of  an  invalid. 

"  Nothing  —  but  that  I  'm  going  now."  She  turned 
her  face  aside  to  hide  her  moistened  eyes.  "  Wish  me 
good  luck,  won't  you  ? "  she  asked,  half  sadly,  half  pet 
tishly. 

"  Come  here  !  " 

She  came  and  bent  over  him.  He  suddenly  raised  his 
hands,  and,  drawing  her  face  down  to  his  own,  kissed  her 
forehead. 


198  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"  Give  that  to  him"  he  whispered,  "from  me" 

She  turned  and  fled,  happily  for  her  sentiment,  not 
hearing  the  feeble  laugh  that  followed,  as  Dunn,  in  sheer 
imbecility,  again  referred  to  the  extravagant  ludicrousness 
of  the  situation.  "  It  is  about  the  biggest  thing  in  the 
way  of  a  sell  all  round,"  he.  repeated,  lying  on  his  back, 
confidentially  to  the  speck  of  smoke-obscured  sky  above 
him.  He  pictured  himself  repeating  it,  not  to  Nellie  — 
her  severe  propriety  might  at  last  overlook  the  fact,  but 
would  not  tolerate  the  joke  —  but  to  her  father !  It 
would  be  just  one  of  those  characteristic  Californian  jokes 
Father  Wynn  would  admire.  * 

To  his  exhaustion  fever  presently  succeeded,  and  he 
began  to  grow  restless.  The  heat  too  seemed  to  invade 
his  retreat,  and  from  time  to  time  the  little  patch  of  blue 
sky  was  totally  obscured  by  clouds  of  smoke.  He 
amused  himself  with  watching  a  lizard  who  was  investi 
gating  a  folded  piece  of  paper,  whose  elasticity  gave  the 
little  creature  lively  apprehensions  of  its  vitality.  At 
last  he  could  stand  the  stillness  of  his  retreat  and  his 
supine  position  no  longer,  and  rolled  himself  out  of  the 
bed  of  leaves  that  Teresa  had  so  carefully  prepared  for 
him.  He  rose  to  his  feet  stiff  and  sore,  and,  supporting 
himself  by  the  nearest  tree,  moved  a  few  steps  from  the 
dead  ashes  of  the  camp-fire.  The  movement  frightened 
the  lizard,  who  abandoned  the  paper  and  fled.  With  a 
satirical  recollection  of  Brace  and  his  "  ridiculous  "  discov 
ery  through  the  medium  of  this  animal,  he  stooped  and 
picked  up  the  paper.  "  Like  as  not,"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  grim  irony,  "  these  yer  lizards  are  in  the  discovery 
business.  P'r'aps  this  may  lead  to  another  mystery  ;  " 
and  he  began  to  unfold  the  paper  with  a  smile.  But  the 
smile  ceased  as  his  eye  suddenly  caught  his  own  name. 

A  dozen  lines  were  written  in  pencil  on  what  seemed 
to  be  a  blank  leaf  originally  torn  from  some  book.  He 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  199 

trembled  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  sit  down  to  read  these 
words :  — 

"  When  you  get  this  keep  away  from  the  woods.  Dunn 
and  another  man  are  in  deadly  pursuit  of  you  and  your 
companion.  I  overheard  their  plan  to  surprise  you  in 
our  cabin.  Don't  go  there,  and  I  will  delay  them  and  put 
them  off  the  scent.  Don't  mind  me.  God  bless  you,  and 
if  you  never  see  me  again  think  sometimes  of 

TERESA." 

His  trembling  ceased  ;  he  flid  not  start,  but  rose  in  an 
abstracted  way,  and  made  a  few  deliberate  steps  in  the 
direction  Teresa  had  gone.  Even  then  he  was  so  con 
fused  that  he  was  obliged  to  refer  to  the  paper  again,  but 
with  so  little  effect  that  he  could  only  repeat  the  last 
words,  "  think  sometimes  of  Teresa."  He  was  conscious 
that  this  was  not  all ;  he  had  a  full  conviction  of  being 
deceived,  and  knew  that  he  held  the  proof  in  his  hand, 
but  he  could  not  formulate  it  beyond  that  sentence. 
"Teresa"  —  yes,  he  would  think  of  her.  She  would 
think  of  him.  She  would  explain  it.  And  here  she  was 
returning. 

In  that  brief  interval  her  face  and  manner  had  again 
changed.  She  was  pale  and  quite  breathless.  She  cast 
a  swift  glance  at  Dunn  and  the  paper  he  mechanically 
held  out,  walked  up  to  him,  and  tore  it  from  his  hand. 

"  Well,"  she  said  hoarsely,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it  ? " 

He  attempted  to  speak,  but  his  voice  failed  him. 
Even  then  he  was  conscious  that  if  he  had  spoken  he 
would  have  only  repeated,  "  think  sometimes  of  Teresa." 
He  looked  longingly  but  helplessly  at  the  spot  where  she 
had  thrown  the  paper,  as  if  it  had  contained  his  unut- 
tered  words. 


2OO  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on  to  herself,  as  if  he  was  a  mute, 
indifferent  spectator —  "yes,  they  're  gone.  That  ends  it 
all.  The  game 's  played  out.  Well !  "  suddenly  turning 
upon  him,  "  now  you  know  it  all.  Your  Nellie  was  here 
with  him,  and  is  with  him  now.  Do  you  hear  ?  Make 
the  most  of  it ;  you  Ve  lost  them  —  but  here  I  am." 

"Yes,"  he  said  eagerly  —  "  yes,  Teresa." 

She  stopped,  stared  at  him  j  then  taking  him  by  the 
hand  led  him  like  a  child  back  to  his  couch.  "  Well," 
she  said,  in  half-savage  explanation,  "  I  told  you  the  truth 
when  I  said  the  girl  was  n't  at  the  cabin  last  night,  and 
that  I  did  n't  know  her.  What  are  you  glowerin'  at  ? 
No  !  I  have  n't  lied  to  you,  I  swear  to  God,  except  in  one 
thing.  Do  you  know  what  that  was  ?  To  save  him  I  took 
upon  me  a  shame  I  don't  deserve.  I  let  you  think  I  was 
his  mistress.  You  think  so  now,  don't  you  ?  Well,  before 
God  to-day  —  and  He  may  take  me  when  He  likes  —  I  'm 
no  more  to  him  than  a  sister !  I  reckon  your  Nellie  can't 
say  as  much." 

She  turned  away,  and  with  the  quick,  impatient  stride 
of  some  caged  animal  made  the  narrow  circuit  of  the 
opening,  stopping  a  moment  mechanically  before  the  sick 
man,  and  again,  without  looking  at  him,  continuing  her 
monotonous  round.  The  heat  had  become  excessive,  but 
she  held  her  shawl  with  both  hands  drawn  tightly  over 
her  shoulders.  Suddenly  a  wood-duck  darted  out  of  the 
covert  blindly  into  the  opening,  struck  against  the  blasted 
trunk,  fell  half  stunned  near  her  feet,  and  then,  recover 
ing,  fluttered  away.  She  had  scarcely  completed  another 
circuit  before  the  irruption  was  followed  by  a  whirring 
bevy  of  quail,  a  flight  of  jays,  and  a  sudden  tumult  of 
wings  swept  through  the  wood  like  a  tornado.  She 
turned  inquiringly  to  Dunn,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet,  but 
the  next  moment  she  caught  convulsively  at  his  wrist : 
a  wolf  had  just  dashed  through  the  underbrush  not  a 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  201 

dozen  yards  away,  and  on  either  side  of  them  they  could 
hear  the  scamper  and  rustle  of  hurrying  feet  like  the 
outburst  of  a  summer  shower.  A  cold  wind  arose  from 
the  opposite  direction,  as  if  to  contest  this  wild  exodus, 
but  it  was  followed  by  a  blast  of  sickening  heat.  Teresa 
sank  at  Dunn's  feet  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

"  Don't  let  them  touch  me  !  "  she  gasped  ;  "  keep  them 
off!  Tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  what  has  happened  ! " 

He  laid  his  hand  firmly  on  her  arm,  and  lifted  her  in 
his  turn  to  her  feet  like  a  child.  In  that  supreme  mo 
ment  of  physical  danger,  his  strength,  reason,  and  man 
hood  returned  in  their  plenitude  of  power.  He  pointed 
coolly  to  the  trail  she  had  quitted,  and  said  : 

"The  Carquinez  Woods  are  on  fire !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  nest  of  the  tuneful  Burnhams,  although  in  the 
suburbs  of  Indian  Spring,  was  not  in  ordinary  weather 
and  seasons  hidden  from  the  longing  eyes  of  the  youth  of 
that  settlement.  That  night,  however,  it  was  veiled  in  the 
smoke  that  encompassed  the  great  highway  leading  to 
Excelsior.  It  is  presumed  that  the  Burnham  brood  had 
long  since  folded  their  wings,  for  there  was  no  sign  of  life 
nor  movement  in  the  house  as  a  rapidly  driven  horse  and 
buggy  pulled  up  before  it.  Fortunately,  the  paternal 
Burnham  was  an  early  bird,  in  the  habit  of  picking  up 
the  first  stirring  mining  worm,  and  a  resounding  knock 
brought  him  half  dressed  to  the  street  door.  He  was 
startled  at  seeing  Father  Wynn  before  him,  a  trifle  flushed 
and  abstracted. 

"  Ah  ha  !  up  betimes,  I  see,  and  ready.  No  sluggards 
here  —  ha,  ha  !  "  he  said  heartily,  slamming  the  door  be 
hind  him,  and  by  a  series  of  pokes  in  the  ribs  genially 
backing  his  host  into  his  own  sitting-room.  "  I  'm  up, 
too,  and  am  here  to  see  Nellie.  She 's  here,  eh  —  of 
course  ? "  he  added,  darting  a  quick  look  at  Burnham. 

But  Mr.  Burnham  was  one  of  those  large,  liberal  West 
ern  husbands  who  classified  his  household  under  the 
general  title  of  "woman  folk,"  for  the  integers  of  which 
he  was  not  responsible.  He  hesitated,  and  then  pro 
pounded  over  the  balusters  to  the  upper  story  the  direct 
query  —  "You  don't  happen  to  have  Nellie  Wynn  up 
there,  do  ye  ? " 

There  was  an  interval  of  inquiry  proceeding  from  half 
a  dozen  reluctant  throats,  more  or  less  cottony  and  muf- 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  203 

fled,  in  those  various  degrees  of  grievance  and  mental 
distress  which  indicate  too  early  roused  young  woman 
hood.  The  eventual  reply  seemed  to  be  affirmative,  al 
beit  accompanied  with  a  suppressed  giggle,  as  if  the 
young  lady  had  just  been  discovered  as  an  answer  to  an 
amusing  conundrum. 

"  All  right,"  said  Wynn,  with  an  apparent  accession  of 
boisterous  geniality.  "  Tell  her  I  must  see  her,  and  I  Ve 
only  got  a  few  minutes  to  spare.  Tell  her  to  slip  on  any 
thing  and  come  down ;  there  's  no  one  here  but  myself, 
and  I  Ve  shut  the  front  door  on  Brother  Burnham.  Ha, 
ha !  "  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  actually 
bundled  the  admiring  Brother  Burnham  out  on  his  own 
doorstep.  There  was  a  light  pattering  on  the  staircase, 
and  Nellie  Wynn,  pink  with  sleep,  very  tall,  very  slim, 
hastily  draped  in  a  white  counterpane  with  a  blue  border 
and  a  general  classic  suggestion,  slipped  into  the  parlor. 
At  the  same  moment  the  father  shut  the  door  behind  her, 
placed  one  hand  on  the  knob,  and  with  the  other  seized 
her  wrist. 

"  Where  were  you  yesterday  ? "  he  asked. 

Nellie  looked  at  him,  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  said, 
"  Here." 

"  You  were  in  the  Carquinez  Woods  with  Low  Dorman ; 
you  went  there  in  disguise  ;  you  've  met  him  there  before. 
He  is  your  clandestine  lover ;  you  have  taken  pledges  of 
affection  from  him  ;  you  have  "  — 

"  Stop  !  "  she  said. 

He  stopped. 

"  Did  he  tell  you  this  ? "  she  asked,  with  an  expression 
of  disdain. 

"  No  \  I  overheard  it.  Dunn  and  Brace  were  at  the 
house  waiting  for  you.  When  the  coach  did  not  bring 
you,  I  went  to  the  office  to  inquire.  As  I  left  our  door  I 
thought  I  saw  somebody  listening  at  the  parlor  windows. 


2O4  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

It  was  only  a  drunken  Mexican  muleteer  leaning  against 
the  house ;  but  if  he  heard  nothing,  /did.  Nellie,  I  heard 
Brace  tell  Dunn  that  he  had  tracked  you  in  your  disguise 
to  the  woods  —  do  you  hear  ?  that  when  you  pretended  to 
be  here  with  the  girls  you  were  with  Low  —  alone  ;  that 
you  wear  a  ring  that  Low  got  of  a  trader  here ;  that  there 
was  a  cabin  in  the  woods  "  — 

"  Stop  !  "  she  repeated. 

Wynn  again  paused. 

"  And  what  did  you  do  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  heard  they  were  starting  down  there  to  surprise  you 
and  him  together,  and  I  harnessed  up  and  got  ahead  of 
them  in  my  buggy." 

"And  found  me  here,"  she  said,  looking  full  into  his 
eyes. 

He  understood  her  and  returned  the  look.  He  recog 
nized  the  full  importance  of  the  culminating  fact  con 
veyed  in  her  words,  and  was  obliged  to  content  himself 
with  its  logical  and  worldly  significance.  It  was  too  late 
now  to  take  her  to  task  for  mere  filial  disobedience  ;  they 
must  become  allies. 

"Yes,"  he  said  hurriedly  ;  "but  if  you  value  your  repu 
tation,  if  you  wish  to  silence  both  these  men,  answer  me 
fully." 

"  Go  on,"  she  said. 

"  Did  you  go  to  the  cabin  in  the  woods  yesterday  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Did  you  ever  go  there  with  Low  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  do  not  know  even  where  it  is." 

Wynn  felt  that  she  was  telling  the  truth.  Nellie  knew 
it ;  but  as  she  would  have  been  equally  satisfied  with 
an  equally  efficacious  falsehood,  her  face  remained  un 
changed. 

"  And  when  did  he  leave  you  ? " 

"  At  nine  o'clock,  here.     He  went  to  the  hotel." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  205 

"  He  saved  his  life,  then,  for  Dunn  is  on  his  way  to  the 
woods  to  kill  him." 

The  jeopardy  of  her  lover  did  not  seem  to  affect  the 
young  girl  with  alarm,  although  her  eyes  betrayed  some 
interest. 

"  Then  Dunn  has  gone  to  the  woods  ? "  she  said  thought 
fully. 

"  He  has,"  replied  Wynn. 

"Is  that  all?  "she  asked. 

"  I  want  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  back  to  bed." 

"  This  is  no  time  for  trifling,  girl." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  she  said,  with  a  yawn ;  "  it 's  too 
early,  or  too  late." 

Wynn  grasped  her  wrist  more  tightly.  "  Hear  me ! 
Put  whatever  face  you  like  on  this  affair,  you  are  com 
promised  —  and  compromised  with  a  man  you  can't 
marry." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  wanted  to  marry  Low,  if  you 
mean  him,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  And  Dunn  would  n't  marry  you  now." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that  either." 

"  Nellie,"  said  Wynn  excitedly,  "  do  you  want  to  drive 
me  mad  ?  Have  you  nothing  to  say  —  nothing  to  sug 
gest  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  want  me  to  help  you,  do  you  ?  Why  did  n't 
you  say  that  first  ?  Well,  go  and  bring  Dunn  here." 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  The  man  has  gone  already  in  pursuit 
of  your  lover,  believing  you  with  him." 

"  Then  he  will  the  more  readily  come  and  talk  with  me 
without  him.  Will  you  take  the  invitation  — yes  or  no  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  "  — 

"Enough.  On  your  way  there  you  will  stop  at  the 
hotel  and  give  Low  a  letter  from  me." 

"  Nellie  !  " 


206  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"  You  shall  read  it,  of  course,"  she  said  scornfully,  "  for 
it  will  be  your  text  for  the  conversation  you  will  have  with 
him.  Will  you  please  take  your  hand  from  the  lock  and 
open  the  door  ?  " 

Wynn  mechanically  opened  the  door.  The  young  girl 
flew  up-stairs.  In  a  very  few  moments  she  returned  with 
two  notes :  one  contained  a  few  lines  of  formal  invitation 
to  Dunn  ;  the  other  read  as  follows  :  — 

"  DEAR  MR.  DORMAN  :  My  father  will  tell  you  how 
deeply  I  regret  that  our  recent  botanical  excursions  in 
the  Carquinez  Woods  have  been  a  source  of  serious  mis 
apprehension  to  those  who  had  a  claim  to  my  considera 
tion,  and  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  discontinue  them  for 
the  future.  At  the  same  time  he  wishes  me  to  express 
my  gratitude  for  your  valuable  instruction  and  assistance 
in  that  pleasing  study,  even  though  approaching  events 
may  compel  me  to  relinquish  it  for  other  duties.  May  I 
beg  you  to  accept  the  enclosed  ring  as  a  slight  recogni 
tion  of  my  obligations  to  you  ? 

"  Your  grateful  pupil, 

"  NELLIE  WYNN." 

When  he  had  finished  reading  the  letter,  she  handed 
him  a  ring,  which  he  took  mechanically.  He  raised  his 
eyes  to  hers  with  perfectly  genuine  admiration.  "  You  're 
a  good  girl,  Nellie,"  he  said,  and,  in  a  moment  of  pa 
rental  forgetfulness,  unconsciously  advanced  his  lips 
towards  her  cheek.  But  she  drew  back  in  time  to  recall 
him  to  a  sense  of  that  human  weakness. 

"  I  suppose  I  '11  have  time  for  a  nap  yet,"  she  said, 
as  a  gentle  hint  to  her  embarrassed  parent.  He  nodded 
and  turned  towards  the  door. 

"If  I  were  you,"  she  continued,  repressing  a  yawn, 
"  I  'd  manage  to  be  seen  on  good  terms  with  Low  at  the 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  207 

hotel ;  so  perhaps  you  need  not  give  the  letter  to  him 
until  the  last  thing.  Good-by." 

The  sitting-room  door  opened  and  closed  behind  her 
as  she  slipped  up-stairs,  and  her  father,  without  the  for 
mality  of  leave-taking,  quietly  let  himself  out  by  the  front 
door. 

When  he  drove  into  the  highroad  again,  however,  an 
overlooked  possibility  threatened  for  a  moment  to  indefi 
nitely  postpone  his  amiable  intentions  regarding  Low. 
The  hotel  was  at  the  farther  end  of  the  settlement  toward 
the  Carquinez  Woods,  and  as  Wynn  had  nearly  reached 
it  he  was  recalled  to  himself  by  the  sounds  of  hoofs  and 
wheels  rapidly  approaching  from  the  direction  of  the  Ex 
celsior  turnpike.  Wynn  made  no  doubt  it  was  the  sheriff 
and  Brace.  To  avoid  recognition  at  that  moment,  he 
whipped  up  his  horse,  intending  to  keep  the  lead  until  he 
could  turn  into  the  first  cross-road.  But  the  coming 
travelers  had  the  fleetest  horse  ;  and  finding  it  impossible 
to  distance  them,  he  drove  close  to  the  ditch,  pulling  up 
suddenly  as  the  strange  vehicle  was  abreast  of  him,  and 
forcing  them  to  pass  him  at  full  speed,  with  the  result 
already  chronicled.  When  they  had  vanished  in  the 
darkness,  Mr.  Wynn,  with  a  heart  overflowing  with  Chris 
tian  thankfulness  and  universal  benevolence,  wheeled 
round,  and  drove  back  to  the  hotel  he  had  already  passed. 
To  pull  up  at  the  veranda  with  a  stentorian  shout,  to 
thump  loudly  at  the  deserted  bar,  to  hilariously  beat  the 
panels  of  the  landlord's  door,  and  commit  a  jocose  assault 
and  battery  upon  that  half-dressed  and  half-awakened 
man,  was  eminently  characteristic  of  Wynn,  and  part  of 
his  amiable  plans  that  morning. 

"  Something  to  wash  this  wood  smoke  from  my  throat, 
Brother  Carter,  and  about  as  much  again  to  prop  open 
your  eyes,"  he  said,  dragging  Carter  before  the  bar,  "  and 
glasses  round  for  as  many  of  the  boys  as  are  up  and  stir- 


208  In  the  Carqitinez   Woods. 

ring  after  a  hard-working  Christian's  rest.  How  goes 
the  honest  publican's  trade,  and  who  have  we  here  ?  " 

"  Thar 's  Judge  Robinson  and  two  lawyers  from  Sacra 
mento,  Dick  Curson  over  from  Yolo,"  said  Carter,  "  and 
that  ar  young  Injin  yarb  doctor  from  the  Carquinez 
Woods.  I  reckon  he  's  jist  up  —  I  noticed  a  light  under 
his  door  as  I  passed." 

"  He  's  my  man  for  a  friendly  chat  before  breakfast," 
said  Wynn.  "  You  need  n't  come  up.  I  '11  find  the  way. 
I  don't  want  a  light;  I  reckon  my  eyes  ain't  as  bright 
nor  as  young  as  his,  but  they  '11  see  almost  as  far  in  the 
dark  —  he-he  !  "  And,  nodding  to  Brother  Carter,  he 
strode  along  the  passage,  and  with  no  other  introduction 
than  a  playful  and  preliminary  "  Boo  !  "  burst  into  one  of 
the  rooms.  Low,  who  by  the  light  of  a  single  candle  was 
bending  over  the  plates  of  a  large  quarto,  merely  raised 
his  eyes  and  looked  at  the  intruder.  The  young  man's 
natural  imperturbability,  always  exasperating  to  Wynn, 
seemed  accented  that  morning  by  contrast  with  his  own 
over-acted  animation. 

"  Ah  ha  !  —  wasting  the  midnight  oil  instead  of  imbib 
ing  the  morning  dews,"  said  Father  Wynn  archly,  illus 
trating  his  metaphor  with  a  movement  of  his  hand  to  his 
lips.  "  What  have  we  here  ? " 

"  An  anonymous  gift,"  replied  Low  simply,  recognizing 
the  father  of  Nellie  by  rising  from  his  chair.  "  It 's  a  vol 
ume  I  've  longed  to  possess,  but  never  could  afford  to  buy. 
I  cannot  imagine  who  sent  it  to  me." 

Wynn  was  for  a  moment  startled  by  the  thought  that  this 
recipient  of  valuable  gifts  might  have  influential  friends- 
But  a  glance  at  the  bare  room,  which  looked  like  a  camp, 
and  the  strange,  unconventional  garb  of  its  occupant,  re 
stored  his  former  convictions.  There  might  be  a  promise 
of  intelligence,  but  scarcely  of  prosperity,  in  the  figure 
before  him. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  209 

"  Ah  !  We  must  not  forget  that  we  are  watched  over 
in  the  night  season,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  Low's 
shoulder,  with  an  illustration  of  celestial  guardianship 
that  would  have  been  impious  but  for  its  palpable  gro- 
tesqueness.  "  No,  sir,  we  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring 
forth." 

Unfortunately,  Low's  practical  mind  did  not  go  beyond 
a  mere  human  interpretation.  It  was  enough,  however, 
to  put  a  new  light  in  his  eye  and  a  faint  color  in  his 
cheek. 

"  Could  it  have  been  Miss  Nellie  ? "  he  asked,  with 
half-boyish  hesitation. 

Mr.  Wynn  was  too  much  of  a  Christian  not  to  bow  be 
fore  what  appeared  to  him  the  purely  providential  inter 
position  of  this  suggestion.  Seizing  it  and  Low  at  the 
same  moment,  he  playfully  forced  him  down  again  in  his 
chair. 

"  Ah,  you  rascal ! "  he  said,  with  infinite  archness ; 
"  that 's  your  game,  is  it  ?  You  want  to  trap  poor  Father 
Wynn.  You  want  to  make  him  say  '  No.'  You  want  to 
tempt  him  to  commit  himself.  No,  sir  !  —  never,  sir !  —  no, 
no!  " 

Firmly  convinced  that  the  present  was  Nellie's  and  that 
her  father  only  good-humoredly  guessed  it,  the  young 
man's  simple,  truthful  nature  was  embarrassed.  He 
longed  to  express  his  gratitude,  but  feared  to  betray  the 
young  girl's  trust.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Wynn  speedily 
relieved  his  mind. 

"  No,"  he  continued,  bestriding  a  chair,  and  familiarly 
confronting  Low  over  its  back.  "  No,  sir —  no  !  And  you 
want  me  to  say  *  No,'  don't  you,  regarding  the  little  walks 
of  Nellie  and  a  certain  young  man  in  the  Carquinez 
Woods?  —  ha,  ha!  You'd  like  me  to  say  that  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  botanizings,  and  the  herb  collectings,  and 
the  picnickings*there  —  he-he !  —  you  sly  dog !  Perhaps 


2io  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

you  'd  like  to  tempt  Father  Wynn  further  and  make  him 
swear  he  knows  nothing  of  his  daughter  disguising  herself 
in  a  duster  and  meeting  another  young  man  —  isn't  it 
another  young  man  ?  —  all  alone,  eh  ?  Perhaps  you  want 
poor  old  Father  Wynn  to  say  '  No.'  No,  sir,  nothing  of 
the  kind  ever  occurred.  Ah,  you  young  rascal !  " 

Slightly  troubled,  in  spite  of  Wynn's  hearty  manner, 
Low,  with  his  usual  directness  however,  said,  "  I  do  not 
want  any  one  to  deny  that  I  have  seen  Miss  Nellie." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Wynn,  abandoning  his 
method,  considerably  disconcerted  by  Low's  simplicity, 
and  a  certain  natural  reserve  that  shook  off  his  familiarity. 
"  Certainly  it 's  a  noble  thing  to  be  able  to  put  your  hand 
on  your  heart  and  say  to  the  world,  '  Come  on,  all  of  you  ! 
Observe  me ;  I  have  nothing  to  conceal.  I  walk  with 
Miss  Wynn  in  the  woods  as  her  instructor  —  her  teacher, 
in  fact.  We  cull  a  flower  here  and  there ;  we  pluck  an 
herb  fresh  from  the  hand  of  the  Creator.  We  look,  so  to 
speak,  from  Nature  to  Nature's  God.'  Yes,  my  young 
friend,  we  should  be  the  first  to  repel  the  foul  calumny 
that  could  misinterpret  our  most  innocent  actions." 

"  Calumny  ?  "  repeated  Low,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  What 
calumny  ? " 

"  My  friend,  my  noble  young  friend,  I  recognize  your 
indignation.  I  know  your  worth.  When  I  said  to  Nellie, 
my  only  child,  my  perhaps  too  simple  offspring  —  a  mere 
wildflower  like  yourself  —  when  I  said  to  her,  '  Go,  my 
child,  walk  in  the  woods  with  this  young  man,  hand  in 
hand.  Let  him  instruct  you  from  the  humblest  roots,  for 
he  has  trodden  in  the  ways  of  the  Almighty.  Gather 
wisdom  from  his  lips,  and  knowledge  from  his  simple 
woodman's  craft.  Make,  in  fact,  a  collection  not  only  of 
herbs,  but  of  moral  axioms  and  experience,'  —  I  knew  I 
could  trust  you,  and,  trusting  you,  my  young  friend,  I  felt  I 
could  trust  the  world.  Perhaps  I  was  weak,  foolish.  But 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  211 

I  thought  only  of  her  welfare.  I  even  recall  how  that,  to 
preserve  the  purity  of  her  garments,  I  bade  her  don  a 
simple  duster;  that,  to  secure  her  from  the  trifling  com 
panionship  of  others,  I  bade  her  keep  her  own  counsel, 
and  seek  you  at  seasons  known  but  to  yourselves." 

"  But  .  .  .  did  Nellie  .  .  .  understand  you  ?  "  inter 
rupted  Low  hastily. 

"  I  see  you  read  her  simple  nature.  Understand  me  ? 
No,  not  at  first !  Her  maidenly  instinct  —  perhaps  her 
duty  to  another  —  took  the  alarm.  I  remember  her  words. 
'  But  what  will  Dunn  say  ? '  she  asked.  '  Will  he  not  be 
jealous  ? ' " 

"  Dunn  !  jealous  !  I  don't  understand,"  said  Low,  fix 
ing  his  eyes  on  Wynn. 

"That's  just  what  I  said  to  Nellie.  'Jealous!'  I 
said.  '  What,  Dunn,  your  affianced  husband,  jealous  of 
a  mere  friend  —  a  teacher,  a  guide,  a  philosopher.  It  is 
impossible.'  Well,  sir,  she  was  right.  He  is  jealous. 
And,  more  than  that,  he  has  imparted  his  jealousy  to 
others  !  In  other  words,  he  has  made  a  scandal ! " 

Low's  eyes  flashed.  "  Where  is  your  daughter  now  ?  " 
he  said  sternly. 

"At  present  in  bed,  suffering  from  a  nervous  attack 
brought  on  by  these  unjust  suspicions.  She  appreciates 
your  anxiety,  and,  knowing  that  you  could  not  see  her, 
told  me  to  give  you  this."  He  handed  Low  the  ring  and 
the  letter. 

The  climax  had  been  forced,  and,  it  must  be  confessed, 
was  by  no  means  the  one  Mr.  Wynn  had  fully  arranged 
in  his  own  inner  consciousness.  He  had  intended  to  take 
an  ostentatious  leave  of  Low  in  the  bar-room,  deliver  the 
letter  with  archness,  and  escape  before  a  possible  explo 
sion.  He  consequently  backed  towards  the  door  for  an 
emergency.  But  he  was  again  at  fault  That  unaffected 
stoical  fortitude  in  acute  suffering,  whicji  was  the  one 


212  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

remaining  pride  and  glory  of  Low's  race,  was  yet  to  be 
revealed  to  Wynn's  civilized  eyes. 

The  young  man  took  the  letter,  and  read  it  without 
changing  a  muscle,  folded  the  ring  in  it,  and  dropped  it 
into  his  haversack.  Then  he  picked  up  his  blanket,  threw 
it  over  his  shoulder,  took  his  trusty  rifle  in  his  hand,  and 
turned  toward  Wynn  as  if  coldly  surprised  that  he  was 
still  standing  there. 

"  Are  you  —  are  you  —  going  ?  "  stammered  Wynn. 

"  Are  you  not  ?  "  replied  Low  dryly,  leaning  on  his  rifle 
for  a  moment  as  if  waiting  for  Wynn  to  precede  him. 
The  preacher  looked  at  him  a  moment,  mumbled  some 
thing,  and  then  shambled  feebly  and  ineffectively  down 
the  staircase  before  Low,  with  a  painful  suggestion  to  the 
ordinary  observer  of  being  occasionally  urged  thereto  by 
the  moccasin  of  the  young  man  behind  him. 

On  reaching  the  lower  hall,  however,  he  endeavored  to 
create  a  diversion  in  his  favor  by  dashing  into  the  bar 
room  and  clapping  the  occupants  on  the  back  with  indis 
criminate  playfulness.  But  here  again  he  seemed  to  be 
disappointed.  To  his  great  discomfiture,  a  large  man  not 
only  returned  his  salutation  with  powerful  levity,  but  with 
equal  playfulness  seized  him  in  his  arms,  and  after  an 
ingenious  simulation  of  depositing  him  in  the  horse- 
trough  set  him  down  in  affected  amazement.  "  Bleth  't  if  I 
did  n't  think  from  the  weight  of  your  hand  it  wath  my  old 
friend,  Thacramento  Bill,"  said  Curson  apologetically, 
with  a  wink  at  the  bystanders.  "  That  'th  the  way  Bill 
alwayth  uthed  to  tackle  hith  friendth,  till  he  wath  one  day 
bounthed  by  a  prithe-fighter  in  Frithco,  whom  he  had 
mithtaken  for  a  mithionary."  As  Mr.  Curson?s  reputation 
was  of  a  quality  that  made  any  form  of  apology  from 
him  instantly  acceptable,  the  amused  spectators  made 
way  for  him  as,  recognizing  Low,  who  was  just  leaving 
the  hotel,  he  turned  coolly  from  them  and  walked 
towards  him. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  213 

"  Halloo  !  "  he  said,  extending  his  hand.  "  You  're  the 
man  I  'm  waiting  for.  Did  you  get  a  book  from  the 
exthpreth  offithe  latht  night  ? " 

"  I  did.     Why  ?  " 

"  It  'th  all  right.  Ath  I  'm  rethponthible  for  it,  I  only 
wanted  to  know." 

"  Did  you  send  it  ?  "  asked  Low,  quickly  fixing  his  eyes 
on  his  face. 

"  Well,  not  exactly  me.  But  it  'th  not  worth  making 
a  mythtery  of  it.  Teretha  gave  me  a  commithion  to 
buy  it  and  thend  it  to  you  anonymouthly.  That  'th  a 
woman  'th  nonthenth,  for  how  could  thee  get  a  retheipt 
for  it  ? " 

"  Then  it  was  her  present,"  said  Low  gloomily. 

"  Of  courthe.  It  wath  n't  mine,  my  boy.  I  'd  have 
thent  you  a  Tharp'th  rifle  in  plathe  of  that  muthle  loader 
you  carry,  or  thomething  thenthible.  But,  I  thay  !  what  'th 
up  ?  You  look  ath  if  you  had  been  running  all  night." 

Low  grasped  his  hand.  "  Thank  you,"  he  said  hur 
riedly  ;  "  but  it 's  nothing.  Only  I  must  be  back  to  the 
woods  early.  Good-by." 

But  Curson  retained  Low's  hand  in  his  own  powerful 
grip. 

"  I  '11  go  with  you  a  bit  further,"  he  said.  "  In  fact, 
I  Ve  got  thomething  to  thay  to  you ;  only  don't  be  in 
thuch  a  hurry ;  the  woodth  can  wait  till  you  get  there." 
Quietly  compelling  Low  to  alter  his  own  characteristic 
Indian  stride  to  keep  pace  with  his,  he  went  on  :  "I 
don't  mind  thaying  I  rather  cottoned  to  you  from  the  time 
you  acted  like  a  white  man  —  no  offenthe  —  to  Teretha. 
She  thayth  you  were  left  when  a  child  lying  round,  jutht 
ath  promithcuouthly  ath  she  wath ;  and  if  I  can  do  any 
thing  towardth  putting  you  on  the  trail  of  your  people, 
I  '11  do  it.  I  know  thome  of  the  voyageurth  who  traded 
with  the  Cherokeeth,  and  your  father  wath  one  —  was  n't 


214  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

he  ?  "  He  glanced  at  Low's  utterly  abstracted  and  im 
mobile  face.  "  I  thay,  you  don't  theem  to  take  a  hand 
in  thith  game,  pardner.  What  'th  the  row  ?  Ith  anything 
wrong  over  there?"  and  he  pointed  to  the  Carquinez 
Woods,  which  were  just  looming  out  of  the  morning 
horizon  in  the  distance. 

Low  stopped.  The  last  words  of  his  companion  seemed 
to  recall  him  to  himself.  He  raised  his  eyes  automati 
cally  to  the  woods,  and  started. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  over  there,"  he  said  breath 
lessly.  "  Look ! " 

"  I  thee  nothing,"  said  Curson,  beginning  to  doubt 
Low's  sanity ;  "  nothing  more  than  I  thaw  an  hour  ago." 

"  Look  again.  Don't  you  see  that  smoke  rising  straight 
up  ?  It  is  n't  blown  over  from  the  Divide ;  it  's  new 
smoke  !  The  fire  is  in  the  woods  !  " 

"  I  reckon  that  'th  so,"  muttered  Curson,  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand.  "  But,  hullo  !  wait  a  minute  !  We  '11 
get  hortheth.  I  say ! "  he  shouted,  forgetting  his  lisp  in 
his  excitement  —  "  stop  !  "  But  Low  had  already  lowered 
his  head  and  darted  forward  like  an  arrow. 

In  a  few  moments  he  had  left  not  only  his  companion 
but  the  last  straggling  houses  of  the  outskirts  far  behind 
him,  and  had  struck  out  in  a  long,  swinging  trot  for  the 
disused  "cut-off."  Already  he  fancied  he  heard  the  note 
of  clamor  in  Indian  Spring,  and  thought  he  distinguished 
the  sound  of  hurrying  hoofs  on  the  great  highway.  But 
the  sunken  trail  hid  it  from  his  view.  From  the  column 
of  smoke  now  plainly  visible  in  the  growing  morning 
light  he  tried  to  locate  the  scene  of  the  conflagration.  It 
was  evidently  not  a  fire  advancing  regularly  from  the 
outer  skirt  of  the  wood,  communicated  to  it  from  the 
Divide  ;  it  was  a  local  outburst  near  its  centre.  It  was 
not  in  the  direction  of  his  cabin  in  the  tree.  There  was 
no  immediate  danger  to  Teresa,  unless  fear  drove  her 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  215 

beyond  the  confines  of  the  wood  into  the  hands  of  those 
who  might  recognize  her.  The  screaming  of  jays  and 
ravens  above  his  head  quickened  his  speed,  as  it  her 
alded  the  rapid  advance  of  the  flames  ;  and  the  unex 
pected  apparition  of  a  bounding  body,  flattened  and  flying 
over  the  yellow  plain,  told  him  that  even  the  secure 
retreat  of  the  mountain  wild-cat  had  been  invaded.  A 
sudden  recollection  of  Teresa's  uncontrollable  terror  that 
first  night  smote  him  with  remorse  and  redoubled  his 
efforts.  Alone  in  the  track  of  these  frantic  and  bewildered 
beasts,  to  what  madness  might  she  not  be  driven  ! 

The  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  from  the  highroad  turned 
his  course  momentarily  in  that  direction.  The  smoke 
was  curling  lazily  over  the  heads  of  a  party  of  men  in  the 
road,  while  the  huge  bulk  of  a  grizzly  was  disappearing 
in  the  distance.  A  battue  of  the  escaping  animals  had 
commenced  !  In  the  bitterness  of  his  heart  he  caught  at 
the  horrible  suggestion,  and  resolved  to  save  her  from 
them  or  die  with  her  there. 

How  fast  he  ran,  or  the  time  it  took  him  to  reach  the 
woods,  has  never  been  known.  Their  outlines  were  al 
ready  hidden  when  he  entered  them.  To  a  sense  less 
keen,  a  courage  less  desperate,  and  a  purpose  less  unal 
tered  than  Low's,  the  wood  would  have  been  impenetra 
ble.  The  central  fire  was  still  confined  to  the  lofty  tree- 
tops,  but  the  downward  rush  of  wind  from  time  to  time 
drove  the  smoke  into  the  aisles  in  blinding  and  suffo 
cating  volumes.  To  simulate  the  creeping  animals,  and 
fall  to  the  ground  on  hands  and  knees,  feel  his  way 
through  the  underbrush  when  the  smoke  was  densest,  or 
take  advantage  of  its  momentary  lifting,  and  without  un 
certainty,  mistake,  or  hesitation  glide  from  tree  to  tree  in 
one  undeviating  course,  was  possible  only  to  an  experi 
enced  woodsman.  To  keep  his  reason  and  insight  so 
clear  as  to  be  able  in  the  midst  of  this  bewildering  con- 


216  In  the  Carquinez   Woods, 

fusion  to  shape  that  course  so  as  to  intersect  the  wild  and 
unknown  tract  of  an  inexperienced,  frightened  wanderer 
belonged  to  Low,  and  to  Low  alone.  He  was  making  his 
way  against  the  wind  towards  the  fire.  He  had  reasoned 
that  she  was  either  in  comparative  safety  to  windward  of 
it,  or  he  should  meet  her  being  driven  towards  him  by  it, 
or  find  her  succumbed  and  fainting  at  its  feet.  To  do 
this  he  must  penetrate  the  burning  belt,  and  then  pass 
under  the  blazing  dome.  He  was  already  upon  it;  he 
could  see  the  falling  fire  dropping  like  rain  or  blown  like 
gorgeous  blossoms  of  the  conflagration  across  his  path. 
The  space  was  lit  up  brilliantly.  The  vast  shafts  of  dull 
copper  cast  no  shadow  below,  but  there  was  no  sign  nor 
token  of  any  human  being.  For  a  moment  the  young 
man  was  at  fault.  It  was  true  this  hidden  heart  of  the 
forest  bore  no  undergrowth ;  the  cool  matted  carpet  of 
the  aisles  seemed  to  quench  the  glowing  fragments  as 
they  fell.  Escape  might  be  difficult,  but  not  impossible  ; 
yet  every  moment  was  precious.  He  leaned  against  a 
tree,  and  sent  his  voice  like  a  clarion  before  him  : 
"  Teresa  !  "  There  was  no  reply.  He  called  again.  A 
faint  cry  at  his  back  from  the  trail  he  had  just  traversed 
made  him  turn.  Only  a  few  paces  behind  him,  blinded 
and  staggering,  but  following  li^e  a  beaten  and  wounded 
animal,  Teresa  halted,  knelt,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
dumbly  held  them  out  before  her.  "  Teresa  !  "  he  cried 
again,  and  sprang  to  her  side. 

She  caught  him  by  the  knees,  and  lifted  her  face  im 
ploringly  to  his. 

"  Say  that  again  !  "  she  cried,  passionately.  "  Tell  me 
it  was  Teresa  you  called,  and  no  other  !  You  have  come 
back  for  me  !  You  would  not  let  me  die  here  alone  !  " 

He  lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  and  cast  a  rapid 
glance  around  him.  It  might  have  been  his  fancy,  but 
there  seemed  a  dull  glow  in  the  direction  he  had  come. 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  217 

"  You  do  not  speak  !  "  she  said.  "  Tell  me  !  You  did 
not  come  here  to  seek  her  ?  " 

"Whom?  "he  said  quickly. 

"  Nellie !  " 

With  a  sharp  cry  he  let  her  slip  to  the  ground.  All 
the  pent-up  agony,  rage,  and  mortification  of  the  last 
hour  broke  from  him  in  that  inarticulate  outburst.  Then, 
catching  her  hands  again,  he  dragged  her  to  his  level. 

"  Hear  me  !  "  he  cried,  disregarding  the  whirling  smoke 
and  the  fiery  baptism  that  sprinkled  them  —  "  hear  me  ! 
If  you  value  your  life,  if  you  value  your  soul,  and  if  you 
do  not  want  me  to  cast  you  to  the  beasts  like  Jezebel  of 
old,  never  —  never  take  that  accursed  name  again  upon 
your  lips.  Seek  her  —  her  ?  Yes  !  Seek  her  to  tie  her 
like  a  witch's  daughter  of  hell  to  that  blazing  tree  !  "  He 
stopped.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  said  in  a  changed  voice. 
"  I  'm  mad,  and  forgetting  myself  and  you.  Come." 

Without  noticing  the  expression  of  half  savage  delight 
that  had  passed  across  her  face,  he  lifted  her  in  his 
arms. 

"  Which  way  are  you  going  ? "  she  asked,  passing  her 
hands  vaguely  across  his  breast,  as  if  to  reassure  herself 
of  his  identity. 

"  To  our  camp  by  the  scarred  tree,"  he  replied. 

"  Not  there,  not  there,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  I  was 
driven  from  there  just  now.  I  thought  the  fire  began 
there  until  I  came  here." 

Then  it  was  as  he  feared.  Obeying  the  same  mysteri 
ous  law  that  had  launched  this  fatal  fire  like  a  thunder 
bolt  from  the  burning  mountain  crest  five  miles  away  into 
the  heart  of  the  Carquinez  Woods,  it  had  again  leaped  a 
mile  beyond,  and  was  hemming  them  between  two  narrow 
ing  lines  of  fire.  But  Low  was  not  daunted.  Retracing 
his  steps  through  the  blinding  smoke,  he  strode  off  at 
right  angles  to  the  trail  near  the  point  where  he  had  en- 


2i8  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

tered  the  wood.  It  was  the  spot  where  he  had  first  lifted 
Nellie  in  his  arms  to  carry  her  to  the  hidden  spring.  If 
any  recollection  of  it  crossed  his  mind  at  that  moment,  it 
was  only  shown  in  his  redoubled  energy.  He  did  not 
glide  through  the  thick  underbrush,  as  on  that  day,  but 
seemed  to  take  a  savage  pleasure  in  breaking  through  it 
with  sheer  brute  force.  Once  Teresa  insisted  upon  re 
lieving  him  of  the  burden  of  her  weight,  but  after  a  few 
steps  she  staggered  blindly  against  him,  and  would  fain 
have  recourse  once  more  to  his  strong  arms.  And  so, 
alternately  staggering,  bending,  crouching,  or  bounding 
and  crashing  on,  but  always  in  one  direction,  they  burst 
through  the  jealous  rampart,  and  came  upon  the  sylvan 
haunt  of  the  hidden  spring.  The  great  angle  of  the  half 
fallen  tree  acted  as  a  barrier  to  the  wind  and  drifting 
smoke,  and  the  cool  spring  sparkled  and  bubbled  in  the 
almost  translucent  air.  He  laid  her  down  beside  the 
water,  and  bathed  her  face  and  hands.  As  he  did  so 
his  quick  eye  caught  sight  of  a  woman's  handkerchief 
lying  at  the  foot  of  the  disrupted  root.  Dropping  Te 
resa's  hand,  he  walked  towards  it,  and  with  the  toe  of  his 
moccasin  gave  it  one  vigorous  kick  into  the  ooze  at  the 
overflow  of  the  spring.  He  turned  to  Teresa,  but  she 
evidently  had  not  noticed  the  act. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

Something  in  her  movement  struck  him.  He  came 
towards  her,  and  bending  down  looked  into  her  face. 

"  Teresa  !  Good  God  !  —  look  at  me  !  What  has  hap 
pened?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  There  was  a  slight  film 
across  them ;  the  lids  were  blackened ;  the  beautiful 
lashes  gone  forever  ! 

"  I  see  you  a  little  now,  I  think,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile,  passing  her  hands  vaguely  over  his  face.  "It 
must  have  happened  when  he  fainted,  and  I  had  to  drag 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  219 

him  through  the  blazing  brush  ;  both  my  hands  were  full, 
and  I  could  not  cover  my  eyes." 

"  Drag  whom  ?  "  said  Low,  quickly. 

"  Why,  Dunn." 

"  Dunn  !     He  here  ?  "  said  Low,  hoarsely. 

"  Yes ;  did  n't  you  read  the  note  I  left  on  the  herba 
rium  ?  Did  n't  you  come  to  the  camp-fire  ?  "  she  asked 
hurriedly,  clasping  his  hands.  "  Tell  me  quickly  !  " 

"  No ! " 

"  Then  you  were  not  there  —  then  you  did  n't  leave  me 
to  die  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  swear  it,  Teresa  !  "  the  stoicism  that  had  up 
held  his  own  agony  breaking  down  before  her  strong  emo 
tion. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  She  threw  her  arms  around  him,  and 
hid  her  aching  eyes  in  his  troubled  breast. 

"  Tell  me  all,  Teresa,"  he  whispered  in  her  listening 
ear.  "  Don't  move  ;  stay  there,  and  tell  me  all." 

With  her  face  buried  in  his  bosom,  as  if  speaking  to 
his  heart  alone,  she  told  him  part,  but  not  all.  With  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  a  smile  on  her  lips,  radiant  with 
new-found  happiness,  she  told  him  how  she  had  overheard 
the  plans  of  Dunn  and  Brace,  how  she  had  stolen  their 
conveyance  to  warn  him  in  time.  But  here  she  stopped, 
dreading  to  say  a  word  that  would  shatter  the  'hope  she 
was  building  upon  his  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  for 
Nellie.  She  could  not  bring  herself  to  repeat  their  inter 
view  —  that  would  come  later,  when  they  were  safe  and 
out  of  danger ;  now  not  even  the  secret  of  his  birth  must 
come  between  them  with  its  distraction,  to  mar  their  per 
fect  communion.  She  faltered  that  Dunn  had  fainted 
from  weakness,  and  that  she  had  dragged  him  out  of 
danger.  "He  will  never  interfere  with  us  —  I  mean," 
she  said  softly,  "  with  me  again.  I  can  promise  you  that 
as  well  as  if  he  had  sworn  it." 


220  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"  Let  him  pass  now,"  said  Low ;  "  that  will  come  later 
on,"  he  added,  unconsciously  repeating  her  thought  in  a 
tone  that  made  her  heart  sick.  "  But  tell  me,  Teresa, 
why  did  you  go  to  Excelsior  ? " 

She  buried  her  head  still  deeper,  as  if  to  hide  it.  He 
felt  her  broken  heart  beat  against  his  own ;  he  was  con 
scious  of  a  depth  of  feeling  her  rival  had  never  awakened 
in  him.  The  possibility  of  Teresa  loving  him  had  never 
occurred  to  his  simple  nature.  He  bent  his  head  and 
kissed  her.  She  was  frightened,  and  unloosed  her  cling 
ing  arms  ;  but  he  retained  her  hand,  and  said,  "  We  will 
leave  this  accursed  place,  and  you  shall  go  with  me  as 
you  said  you  would ;  nor  need  you  ever  leave  me,  unless 
you  wish  it." 

She  could  hear  the  beating  of  her  own  heart  through 
his  words  j  she  longed  to  look  at  the  eyes  and  lips  that 
told  her  this,  and  read  the  meaning  his  voice  alone  could 
not  entirely  convey.  For  the  first  time  she  felt  the  loss 
of  her  sight.  She  did  not  know  that  it  was,  in  this  mo 
ment  of  happiness,  the  last  blessing  vouchsafed  to  her 
miserable  life. 

A  few  moments  of  silence  followed,  broken  only  by  the 
distant  rumor  of  the  conflagration  and  the  crash  of  falling 
boughs.  "  It  may  be  an  hour  yet,"  he  whispered,  "  before 
the  fire  has  swept  a  path  for  us  to  the  road  below.  We 
are  safe  here,  unless  some  sudden  current  should  draw 
the  fire  down  upon  us.  You  are  not  frightened  ? "  She 
pressed  his  hand  ;  she  was  thinking  of  the  pale  face  of 
Dunn,  lying  in  the  secure  retreat  she  had  purchased  for 
him  at  such  a  sacrifice.  Yet  the  possibility  of  danger  to 
him  now  for  a  moment  marred  her  present  happiness  and 
security.  "  You  think  the  fire  will  not  go  north  of  where 
you  found  me  ?  "  she  asked  softly. 

"  I  think  not,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  will  reconnoitre.  Stay 
where  you  are." 


In  the  Carquinez   Woods.  221 

They  pressed  hands  and  parted.  He  leaped  upon  the 
slanting  trunk  and  ascended  it  rapidly.  She  waited  in 
mute  expectation. 

There  was  a  sudden  movement  of  the  root  on  which 
she  sat,  a  deafening  crash,  and  she  was  thrown  forward 
on  her  face. 

The  vast  bulk  of  the  leaning  tree,  dislodged  from  its 
aerial  support  by  the  gradual  sapping  of  the  spring  at  its 
roots,  or  by  the  crumbling  of  the  bark  from  the  heat,  had 
slipped,  made  a  half  revolution,  and,  falling,  overbore  the 
lesser  trees  in  its  path,  and  tore,  in  its  resistless  momen 
tum,  a  broad  opening  to  the  underbrush. 

With  a  cry  to  Low,  Teresa  staggered  to  her  feet.  There 
was  an  interval  of  hideous  silence,  but  no  reply.  She 
called  again.  There  was  a  sudden  deepening  roar,  the 
blast  of  a  fiery  furnace  swept  through  the  opening,  a 
thousand  luminous  points  around  her  burst  into  fire,  and 
in  an  instant  she  was  lost  in  a  whirlwind  of  smoke  and 
flame!  From  the  onset  of  its  fury  to  its  culmination 
twenty  minutes  did  not  elapse  ;  but  in  that  interval  a 
radius  of  two  hundred  yards  around  the  hidden  spring 
was  swept  of  life  and  light  and  motion. 

For  the  rest  of  that  day  and  part  of  the  night  a  pall  of 
smoke  hung  above  the  scene  of  desolation.  It  lifted  only 
towards  the  morning,  when  the  moon,  riding  high,  picked 
out  in  black  and  silver  the  shrunken  and  silent  columns 
of  those  roofless  vaults,  shorn  of  base  and  capital.  It 
flickered  on  the  still,  overflowing  pool  of  the  hidden 
spring,  and  shone  upon  the  white  face  of  Low,  who,  with 
a  rootlet  of  the  fallen  tree  holding  him  down  like  an  arm 
across  his  breast,  seemed  to  be  sleeping  peacefully  in  the 
sleeping  water. 

Contemporaneous  history  touched  him  as  briefly,  but 
not  as  gently.  "It  is  now  definitely  ascertained,"  said 


222  In  the  Carquinez   Woods. 

"  The  Slumgullion  Mirror,"  "  that  Sheriff  Dunn  met  his 
fate  in  the  Carquinez  Woods  in  the  performance  of  his 
duty;  that  fearless  man  having  received  information  of 
the  concealment  of  a  band  of  horse  thieves  in  their  re 
cesses.  The  desperadoes  are  presumed  to  have  escaped, 
as  the  only  remains  found  are  those  of  two  wretched 
tramps,  one  of  whom  is  said  to  have  been  a  digger,  who 
supported  himself  upon  roots  and  herbs,  and  the  other  a 
degraded  half-white  woman.  It  is  not  unreasonable  to 
suppose  that  the  fire  originated  through  their  careless 
ness,  although  Father  Wynn  of  the  First  Baptist  Church, 
in  his  powerful  discourse  of  last  Sunday,  pointed  at  the 
warning  and  lesson  of  such  catastrophes.  It  may  not  be 
out  of  place  here  to  say  that  the  rumors  regarding  an 
engagement  between  the  pastor's  accomplished  daughter 
and  the  late  lamented  sheriff  are  utterly  without  founda 
tion,  as  it  has  been  an  on  dit  for  some  time  in  all  well-in 
formed  circles  that  the  indefatigable  Mr.  Brace,  of  Wells, 
Fargo  &  Co.'s  Express,  will  shortly  lead  the  lady  to  the 
hymeneal  altar." 


at  fye  ffii$$ion  of  ^>an  Carmel, 

PROLOGUE. 

IT  was  noon  of  the  loth  of  August,  1838.  The  monot 
onous  coast  line  between  Monterey  and  San  Diego  had 
set  its  hard  outlines  against  the  steady  glare  of  the  Cali- 
fornian  sky  and  the  metallic  glitter  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
The  weary  succession  of  rounded,  dome-like  hills  oblit 
erated  all  sense  of  distance ;  the  rare  whaling  vessel  o<f 
still  rarer  trader,  drifting  past,  saw  no  change  in  these 
rusty  undulations,  barren  of  distinguishing  peak  or  head 
land,  and  bald  of  wooded  crest  or  timbered  ravine.  The 
withered  ranks  of  wild  oats  gave  a  dull  procession  of  uni 
form  color  to  the  hills,  unbroken  by  any  relief  of  shadow 
in  their  smooth,  round  curves.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  sea  and  shore  met  in  one  bleak  monotony,  flecked 
by  no  passing  cloud,  stirred  by  no  sign  of  life  or  motion. 
Even  sound  was  absent ;  the  Angelus,  rung  from  the  in 
visible  Mission  tower  far  inland,  was  driven  back  again 
by  the  steady  northwest  trades,  that  for  half  the  year  had 
swept  the  coast  line  and  left  it  abraded  of  all  umbrage 
and  color. 

But  even  this  monotony  soon  gave  way  to  a  change  and 
another  monotony  as  uniform  and  depressed.  The  west 
ern  horizon,  slowly  contracting  before  a  wall  of  vapor,  by 
four  o'clock  had  become  a  mere  cold,  steely  strip  of  sea, 
into  which  gradually  the  northern  trend  of  the  coast 
faded  and  was  lost.  As  the  fog  stole  with  soft  step 
southward,  all  distance,  space,  character,  and  locality 
again  vanished ;  the  hills  upon  which  the  sun  still  shone 


224      At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL 

bore  the  same  monotonous  outlines  as  those  just  wiped 
into  space.  Last  of  all,  before  the  red  sun  sank  like  the 
descending  Host,  it  gleamed  upon  the  sails  of  a  trading 
vessel  close  in  shore.  It  was  the  last  object  visible.  A 
damp  breath  breathed  upon  it,  a  soft  hand  passed  over 
the  slate,  the  sharp  pencilling  of  the  picture  faded  and 
became  a  confused  gray  cloud. 

The  wind  and  waves,  too,  went  down  in  the  fog ;  the 
now  invisible  and  hushed  breakers  occasionally  sent  the 
surf  over  the  sand  in  a  quick  whisper,  with  grave  inter 
vals  of  silence,  but  with  no  continuous  murmur  as  before. 
In  a  curving  bight  of  the  shore  the  creaking  of  oars  in 
their  rowlocks  began  to  be  distinctly  heard,  but  the  boat 
ftself,  although  apparently  only  its  length  from  the  sands, 
was  invisible. 

"  Steady  now ;  way  enough  ! "  The  voice  came  from 
the  sea,  and  was  low,  as  if  unconsciously  affected  by  the 
fog.  "  Silence  !  " 

The  sound  of  a  keel  grating  the  sand  was  followed  by 
the  order,  "  Stern  all  ! "  from  the  invisible  speaker. 

"  Shall  we  beach  her  ?  "  asked  another  vague  voice. 

"  Not  yet.     Hail  again,  and  all  together." 

"  Ah  hoy — oi — oi — oy !  " 

There  were  four  voices,  but  the  hail  appeared  weak 
and  ineffectual,  like  a  cry  in  a  dream,  and  seemed  hardly 
to  reach  beyond  the  surf  before  it  was  suffocated  in  the 
creeping  cloud.  A  silence  followed,  but  no  response. 

"  It  's  no  use  to  beach  her  and  go  ashore  until  we  find 
the  boat,"  said  the  first  voice,  gravely ;  "  and  we  '11  do 
that  if  the  current  has  brought  her  here.  Are  you  sure 
you  Ve  got  the  right  bearings  ?  " 

"  As  near  as  a  man  could  off  a  shore  with  not  a  blasted 
pint  to  take  his  bearings  by." 

There  was  a  long  silence  again,  broken  only  by  the 
occasional  dip  of  oars,  keeping  the  invisible  boat-head 
to  the  sea. 


At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL      225 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  lads,  it  's  the  last  we  '11  see  of 
that  boat  again,  or  of  Jack  Cranch,  or  the  captain's  baby." 

"  It  does  look  mighty  queer  that  the  painter  should 
slip.  Jack  Cranch  ain't  the  man  to  tie  a  granny  knot." 

"  Silence  !  "  said  the  invisible  leader.     "  Listen." 

A  hail,  so  faint  and  uncertain  that  it  might  have  been 
the  long-deferred,  far-off  echo  of  their  own,  came  from 
the  sea,  abreast  of  them. 

"  It 's  the  captain.  He  has  n't  found  anything,  or  he 
could  n't  be  so  far  north.  Hark  !  " 

The  hail  was  repeated  again  faintly,  dreamily.  To  the 
seamen's  trained  ears  it  seemed  to  have  an  intelligent 
significance,  for  the  first  voice  gravely  responded,  "  Aye, 
aye  ? "  and  then  said  softly,  "  Oars." 

The  word  was  followed  by  a  splash.  The  oars  clicked 
sharply  and  simultaneously  in  the  rowlocks,  then  more 
faintly,  then  still  fainter,  and  then  passed  out  into  the 
darkness. 

The  silence  and  shadow  both  fell  together ;  for  hours 
sea  and  shore  were  impenetrable.  Yet  at  times  the  air 
was  softly  moved  and  troubled,  the  surrounding  gloom 
faintly  lightened  as  with  a  misty  dawn,  and  then  was  dark 
again  ;  or  drowsy,  far-off  cries  and  confused  noises  seemed 
to  grow  out  of  the  silence,  and,  when  they  had  attracted 
the  weary  ear,  sank  away  as  in  a  mocking  dream,  and 
showed  themselves  unreal.  Nebulous  gatherings  in  the 
fog  seemed  to  indicate  stationary  objects  that,  even  as 
one  gazed,  moved  away ;  the  recurring  lap  and  ripple  on 
the  shingle  sometimes  took  upon  itself  the  semblance  of 
faint  articulate  laughter  or  spoken  words.  But  towards 
morning  a  certain  monotonous  grating  on  the  sand,  that 
had  for  many  minutes  alternately  cheated  and  piqued  the 
ear,  asserted  itself  more  strongly,  and  a  moving,  vacillat 
ing  shadow  in  the  gloom  became  an  opaque  object  on  the 
shore. 


226      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

With  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  light  the  fog  lifted. 
As  the  undraped  hills  one  by  one  bared  their  cold  bosoms 
to  the  sun,  the  long  line  of  coast  struggled  back  to  life 
again.  Everything  was  unchanged,  except  that  a  stranded 
boat  lay  upon  the  sands,  and  in  its  stern  sheets  a  sleep 
ing  child. 

I. 

The  loth  of  August,  1852,  brought  little  change  to  the 
dull  monotony  of  wind,  fog,  and  treeless  coast  line. 
Only  the  sea  was  occasionally  flecked  with  racing  sails 
that  outstripped  the  old,  slow-creeping  trader,  or  was  at 
times  streaked  and  blurred  with  the  trailing  smoke  of  a 
steamer.  There  were  a  few  strange  footprints  on  those 
virgin  sands,  and  a  fresh  track,  that  led  from  the  beach 
over  the  rounded  hills,  dropped  into  the  bosky  recesses 
of  a  hidden  valley  beyond  the  coast  range. 

It  was  here  that  the  refectory  windows  of  the  Mission 
of  San  Carmel  had  for  years  looked  upon  the  reverse  of 
that  monotonous  picture  presented  to  the  sea.  It  was 
here  that  the  trade  winds,  shorn  of  their  fury  and  strength 
in  the  heated,  oven-like  air  that  rose  from  the  valley,  lost 
their  weary  way  in  the  tangled  recesses  of  the  wooded 
slopes,  and  breathed  their  last  at  the  foot  of  the  stone 
cross  before  the  Mission.  It  was  on  the  crest  of  those 
slopes  that  the  fog  halted  and  walled  in  the  sun-illumined 
plain  below ;  it  was  in  this  plain  that  limitless  fields  of 
grain  clothed  the  flat  adobe  soil ;  here  the  Mission  garden 
smiled  over  its  hedges  of  fruitful  vines,  and  through  the 
leaves  of  fig  and  gnarled  pear  trees ;  and  it  was  here 
that  Father  Pedro  had  lived  for  fifty  years,  found  the 
prospect  good,  and  had  smiled  also. 

Father  Pedro's  smile  was  rare.  He  was  not  a  Las 
Casas,  nor  a  Junipero  Serra,  but  he  had  the  deep  serious- 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      227 

ness  of  all  disciples  laden  with  the  responsible  wording  of 
a  gospel  not  their  own.  And  his  smile  had  an  ecclesias 
tical  as  well  as  a  human  significance,  the  pleasantest 
object  in  his  prospect  being  the  fair  and  curly  head  of 
his  boy  acolyte  and  chorister,  Francisco,  which  appeared 
among  the  vines,  and  his  sweetest  pastoral  music,  the 
high  soprano  humming  of  a  chant  with  which  the  boy 
accompanied  his  gardening. 

Suddenly  the  acolyte's  chant  changed  to  a  cry  of  ter 
ror.  Running  rapidly  to  Father  Pedro's  side,  he  grasped 
his  sotana,  and  even  tried  to  hide  his  curls  among  its 
folds. 

"  'St !  'st !  "  said  the  Padre,  disengaging  himself  with 
some  impatience.  "  What  new  alarm  is  this  ?  Is  it 
Luzbel  hiding  among  our  Catalan  vines,  or  one  of  those 
heathen  Americanos  from  Monterey  ?  Speak  !  " 

"  Neither,  holy  father,"  said  the  boy,  the  color  struggling 
back  into  his  pale  cheeks,  and  an  apologetic,  bashful 
smile  lighting  his  clear  eyes.  "  Neither ;  but  oh  !  such 
a  gross,  lethargic  toad  !  And  it  almost  leaped  upon  me." 

"  A  toad  leaped  upon  thee !  "  repeated  the  good  father 
with  evident  vexation.  "  What  next  ?  I  tell  thee,  child, 
those  foolish  fears  are  most  unmeet  for  thee,  and  must 
be  overcome,  if  necessary,  with  prayer  and  penance. 
Frightened  by  a  toad  !  Blood  of  the  Martyrs  !  'T  is  like 
any  foolish  girl !  " 

Father  Pedro  stopped  and  coughed. 

"  I  am  saying  that  no  Christian  child  should  shrink 
from  any  of  God's  harmless  creatures.  And  only  last 
week  thou  wast  disdainful  of  poor  Murieta's  pig,  forget 
ting  that  San  Antonio  himself  did  elect  one  his  faithful 
companion,  even  in  glory." 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  so  fat,  and  so  uncleanly,  holy  father," 
replied  the  young  acolyte,  "  and  it  smelt  so." 

"  Smelt  so  ? "  echoed  the  father  doubtfully.     "  Have  a 


228      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

care,  child,  that  this  is  not  luxuriousness  of  the  senses. 
I  have  noticed  of  late  you  gather  over-much  of  roses  and 
syringa,  excellent  in  their  way  and  in  moderation,  but 
still  not  to  be  compared  with  the  flower  of  Holy  Church, 
the  lily." 

"  But  lilies  don't  look  well  on  the  refectory  table,  and 
against  the  adobe  wall,"  returned  the  acolyte,  with  a 
pout  of  a  spoilt  child ;  "  and  surely  the  flowers  cannot 
help  being  sweet,  any  more  than  myrrh  or  incense.  And 
I  am  not  frightened  of  the  heathen  Americanos  either, 
now.  There  was  a  small  one  in  the  garden  yesterday,  a 
boy  like  me,  and  he  spoke  kindly  and  with  a  pleasant 
face." 

"What  said  he  to  thee,  child?"  asked  Father  Pedro, 
anxiously. 

"  Nay,  the  matter  of  his  speech  I  could  not  under 
stand,"  laughed  the  boy,  "but  the  manner  was  as  gentle 
as  thine,  holy  father." 

"'St,  child,"  said  the  Padre,  impatiently.  "Thy  lik 
ings  are  as  unreasonable  as  thy  fears.  Besides,  have  I 
not  told  thee  it  ill  becomes  a  child  of  Christ  to  chatter 
with  those  sons  of  Belial  ?  But  canst  thou  not  repeat 
the  words  —  the  words  he  said  ? "  he  continued  sus 
piciously. 

"  'T  is  a  harsh  tongue  the  Americanos  speak  in  their 
throat,"  replied  the  boy.  "  But  he  said  '  Devilishnisse ' 
and  '  pretty-as-a-girl,'  and  looked  at  me." 

The  good  father  made  the  boy  repeat  the  words 
gravely,  and  as  gravely  repeated  them  after  him  with  in 
finite  simplicity.  "They  are  but  heretical  words,"  he  re 
plied,  in  answer  to  the  boy's  inquiring  look ;  "  it  is  well 
you  understand  not  English.  'Enough.  Run  away,  child, 
and  be  ready  for  the  Angelus.  I  will  commune  with  my 
self  awhile  under  the  pear  trees." 

Glad  to  escape  so  easily,  the  young  acolyte  disappeared 


At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL      229 

down  the  alley  of  fig  trees,  not  without  a  furtive  look  at 
the  patches  of  chick  weed  around  their  roots,  the  possible 
ambuscade  of  creeping  or  saltant  vermin.  The  good 
priest  heaved  a  sigh  and  glanced  round  the  darkening 
prospect.  The  sun  had  already  disappeared  over  the 
mountain  wall  that  lay  between  him  and  the  sea,  rimmed 
with  a  faint  white  line  of  outlying  fog.  A  cool  zephyr 
fanned  his  cheek ;  it  was  the  dying  breath  of  the  vientos 
generates  beyond  the  wall.  As  Father  Pedro's  eyes  were 
raised  to  this  barrier,  which  seemed  to  shut  out  the  bois 
terous  world  beyond,  he  fancied  he  noticed  for  the  first 
time  a  slight  breach  in  the  parapet,  over  which  an  ad 
vanced  banner  of  the  fog  was  fluttering.  Was  it  an 
omen  ?  His  speculations  were  cut  short  by  a  voice  at  his 
very  side. 

He  turned  quickly  and  beheld  one  of  those  "  heathens  " 
against  whom  he  had  just  warned  his  young  acolyte ;  one 
of  that  straggling  band  of  adventurers  whom  the  recent 
gold  discoveries  had  scattered  along  the  coast.  Luckily 
the  fertile  alluvium  of  these  valleys,  lying  parallel  with 
the  sea,  offered  no  "  indications  "  to  attract  the  gold-seek 
ers.  Nevertheless,  to  Father  Pedro  even  the  infrequent 
contact  with  the  Americanos  was  objectionable  :  they 
were  at  once  inquisitive  and  careless  ;  they  asked  ques 
tions  with  the  sharp  perspicacity  of  controversy;  they 
received  his  grave  replies  with  the  frank  indifference  of 
utter  worldliness.  Powerful  enough  to  have  been  tyran 
nical  oppressors,  they  were  singularly  tolerant  and  gentle, 
contenting  themselves  with  a  playful,  good-natured  irrev 
erence,  which  tormented  the  good  father  more  than  oppo 
sition.  They  were  felt  to  be  dangerous  and  subversive. 

The  Americano,  however,  who  stood  before  him  did 
not  offensively  suggest  these  national  qualities.  A  man 
of  middle  height,  strongly  built,  bronzed  and  slightly 
gray  from  the  vicissitudes  of  years  and  exposure,  he  had 


230      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

an  air  of  practical  seriousness  that  commended  itself  to 
Father  Pedro.  To  his  religious  mind  it  suggested  self- 
consciousness  ;  expressed  in  the  dialect  of  the  stranger, 
it  only  meant  "  business." 

"  I  'm  rather  glad  I  found  you  out  here  alone,"  began 
the  latter;  "it  saves  time.  I  haven't  got  to  take  my 
turn  with  the  rest,  in  there,"  —  he  indicated  the  church 
with  his  thumb,  —  "and  you  have  n't  got  to  make  an  ap 
pointment.  You  have  got  a  clear  forty  minutes  before 
the  Angelus  rings,"  he  added,  consulting  a  large  silver 
chronometer,  "  and  I  reckon  I  kin  git  through  my  part  of 
the  job  inside  of  twenty,  leaving  you  ten  minutes  for  re 
marks.  I  want  to  confess." 

Father  Pedro  drew  back  with  a  gesture  of  dignity.  The 
stranger,  however,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  Padre's  sleeve 
with  the  air  of  a  man  anticipating  objection,  but  never  re 
fusal,  and  went  on. 

"  Of  course,  I  know.  You  want  me  to  come  at  some 
other  time,  and  in  there.  You  want  it  in  the  reg'lar  style. 
That 's  your  way  and  your  time.  My  answer  is  :  it  ain't 
my  way  and  my  time.  The  main  idea  of  confession,  I 
take  it,  is  gettin'  at  the  facts.  I  'm  ready  to  give  'em  if 
you  '11  take  'em  out  here,  now.  If  you  're  willing  to  drop 
the  Church  and  confessional,  and  all  that  sort  o'  thing,  I, 
on  my  side,  am  willing  to  give  up  the  absolution,  and  all 
that  sort  o'  thing.  You  might,"  he  added,  with  an  un 
conscious  touch  of  pathos  in  the  suggestion,  *'  heave  in  a 
word  or  two  of  advice  after  I  get  through ;  for  instance, 
what  you  'd  do  in  the  circumstances,  you  see  !  That  ?s 
all.  But  that 's  as  you  please.  It  ain't  part  of  the  busi 
ness. 

Irreverent  as  this  speech  appeared,  there  was  really  no 
trace  of  such  intention  in  his  manner,  and  his  evident 
profound  conviction  that  his  suggestion  was  practical, 
and  not  at  all  inconsistent  with  ecclesiastical  dignity, 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      231 

would  alone  have  been  enough  to  touch  the  Padre,  had 
not  the  stranger's  dominant  personality  already  overridden 
him.  He  hesitated.  The  stranger  seized  the  opportunity 
to  take  his  arm,  and  lead  him  with  the  half  familiarity  of 
powerful  protection  to  a  bench  beneath  the  refectory  win 
dow.  Taking  out  his  watch  again,  he  put  it  in  the  passive 
hands  of  the  astonished  priest,  saying,  "  Time  me,"  cleared 
his  throat,  and  began  :  — 

"  Fourteen  years  ago  there  was  a  ship  cruisin'  in  the 
Pacific,  jest  off  this  range,  that  was  ez  nigh  on  to  a  Hell 
afloat  as  anything  rigged  kin  be.  If  a  chap  managed  to 
dodge  the  cap'en's  belaying-pin  for  a  time  he  was  bound 
to  be  fetched  up  in  the  ribs  at  last  by  the  mate's  boots. 
There  was  a  chap  knocked  down  the  fore  hatch  with  a 
broken  leg  in  the  Gulf,  and  another  jumped  overboard  off 
Cape  Corrientes,  crazy  as  a  loon,  along  a  clip  of  the 
head  from  the  cap'en's  trumpet.  Them 's  facts.  The 
ship  was  a  brigantine,  trading  along  the  Mexican  coast. 
The  cap'en  had  his  wife  aboard,  a  little  timid  Mexican 
woman  he  'd  picked  up  at  Mazatlan.  I  reckon  she  did  n't 
get  on  with  him  any  better  than  the  men,  for  she  ups  and 
dies  one  day,  leavin'  her  baby,  a  year-old  gal.  One  o' 
the  crew  was  fond  o'  that  baby.  He  used  to  get  the 
black  nurse  to  put  it  in  the  dingy,  and  he  'd  tow  it  astern, 
rocking  it  with  the  painter  like  a  cradle.  He  did  it  — 
hatin'  the  cap'en  all  the  same.  One  day  the  black  nurse 
got  out  of  the  dingy  for  a  moment,  when  the  baby  was 
asleep,  leavin'  him  alone  with  it.  An  idea  took  hold  on 
him,  jest  from  cussedness,  you  'd  say,  but  it  was  partly 
from  revenge  on  the  cap'en  and  partly  to  get  away  from 
the  ship.  The  ship  was  well  in  shore,  and  the  current 
settin'  towards  it.  He  slipped  the  painter  —  that  man  — 
and  set  himself  adrift  with  the  baby.  It  was  a  crazy  act, 
you  'd  reckon,  for  there  was  n't  any  oars  in  the  boat ;  but 
he  had  a  crazy  man's  luck,  and  he  contrived,  by  sculling 


232      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

the  boat  with  one  of  the  seats  he  tore  out,  to  keep  her  out 
of  the  breakers,  till  he  could  find  a  bight  in  the  shore  to 
run  her  in.  The  alarm  was  given  from  the  ship,  but  the 
fog  shut  down  upon  him  ;  he  could  hear  the  other  boats 
in  pursuit.  They  seemed  to  close  in  on  him,  and  by  the 
sound  he  judged  the  cap'en  was  just  abreast  of  him  in  the 
gig,  bearing  down  upon  him  in  the  fog.  He  slipped  out 
of  the  dingy  into  the  water  without  a  splash,  and  struck 
out  for  the  breakers.  He  got  ashore  after  havin'  been 
knocked  down  and  dragged  in  four  times  by  the  under 
tow.  He  had  only  one  idea  then,  thankfulness  that  he 
had  not  taken  the  baby  with  him  in  the  surf.  You  kin 
put  that  down  for  him  ;  it 's  a  fact.  He  got  off  into  the 
hills,  and  made  his  way  up  to  Monterey." 

"  And  the  child  ?  "  asked  the  Padre,  with  a  sudden  and 
strange  asperity  that  boded  no  good  to  the  penitent ;  "  the 
child  thus  ruthlessly  abandoned  —  what  became  of  it? " 

"  That 's  just  it,  the  child,"  said  the  stranger,  gravely. 
"  Well,  if  that  man  was  on  his  death-bed  instead  of  being 
here  talking  to  you,  he'd  swear  that  he  thought  the 
cap'en  was  sure  to  come  up  to  it  the  next  minit.  That 's 
a  fact.  But  it  was  n't  until  one  day  that  he  —  that 's  me 
—  ran  across  one  of  that  crew  in  Frisco.  '  Hallo,  Cranch,' 
sez  he  to  me,  *  so  you  got  away,  did  n't  you  ?  And 
how  's  the  cap'en's  baby  ?  Grown  a  young  gal  by  this 
time,  ain't  she  ? '  '  What  are  you  talking  about,'  sez  I ; 
'  how  should  I  know  ? '  He  draws  away  from  me,  and 
sez,  *D —  it,'  sez  he,  'you  don't  mean  that  you'  .  .  . 
I  grabs  him  by  the  throat  and  makes  him  tell  me  all. 
And  then  it  appears  that  the  boat  and  the  baby  were 
never  found  again,  and  every  man  of  that  crew,  cap'en 
and  all,  believed  I  had  stolen  it." 

He  paused.  Father  Pedro  was  staring  at  the  prospect 
with  an  uncompromising  rigidity  of  head  and  shoulder. 

"  It 's  a  bad  lookout  for  me,  ain't  it  ? "  the  stranger 
continued,  in  serious  reflection. 


At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL      233 

"  How  do  I  know,"  said  the  priest  harshly,  without 
turning  his  head,  "  that  you  did  not  make  away  with  this 
child?" 

"Beg  pardon." 

"  That  you  did  not  complete  your  revenge  by  —  by  — 
killing  it,  as  your  comrade  suspected  you  ?  Ah !  Holy 
Trinity,"  continued  Father  Pedro,  throwing  out  his  hands 
with  an  impatient  gesture,  as  if  to  take  the  place  of  unut 
terable  thought. 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  echoed  the  stranger  coldly. 

"Yes." 

The  stranger  linked  his  ringers  together  and  threw 
them  over  his  knee,  drew  it  up  to  his  chest  caressingly, 
and  said  quietly,  "Becaus-e  you  do  know." 

The  Padre  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  What  mean  you  ? "  he  said,  sternly  fixing  his  eyes 
upon  the  speaker.  Their  eyes  met.  The  stranger's  were 
gray  and  persistent,  with  hanging  corner  lids  that  might 
have  concealed  even  more  purpose  than  they  showed. 
The  Padre's  were  hollow,  open,  and  the  whites  slightly 
brown,  as  if  with  tobacco  stains.  Yet  they  were  the  first 
to  turn  away. 

"  I  mean,"  returned  the  stranger,  with  the  same  practi 
cal  gravity,  "  that  you  know  it  would  n't  pay  me  to  come 
here,  if  I  'd  killed  the  baby,  unless  I  wanted  you  to  fix 
things  right  with  me  up  there,"  pointing  skyward,  "  and 
get  absolution  ;  and  I  've  told  you  that  was  n't  in  my  line." 

"  Why  do  you  seek  me,  then  ? "  demanded  the  Padre, 
suspiciously. 

"  Because  I  reckon  I  thought  a  man  might  be  allowed 
to  confess  something  short  of  a  murder.  If  you  're  going 
to  draw  the  line  below  that  "  — 

"  This  is  but  sacrilegious  levity,"  interrupted  Father 
Pedro,  turning  as  if  to  go.  But  the  stranger  did  not 
make  any  movement  to  detain  him. 


234      At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL 

"  Have  you  implored  forgiveness  of  the  father  —  the 
man  you  wronged  —  before  you  came  here  ?  "  asked  the 
priest,  lingering. 

"  Not  much.  It  would  n't  pay  if  he  was  living,  and  he 
died  four  years  ago." 

"  You  are  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  There  are  other  relations,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  None." 

Father  Pedro  was  silent.  When  he  spoke  again,  it  was 
with  a  changed  voice.  "  What  is  your  purpose,  then  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  the  first  indication  of  priestly  sympathy 
in  his  manner.  "You  cannot  ask  forgiveness  of  the 
earthly  father  you  have  injured,  you  refuse  the  inter 
cession  of  Holy  Church  with  the  Heavenly  Father  you 
have  disobeyed.  Speak,  wretched  man  !  What  is  it  you 
want  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  find  the  child." 

"  But  if  it  were  possible,  if  she  were  still  living,  are  you 
fit  to  seek  her,  to  even  make  yourself  known  to  her,  to 
appear  before  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  I  made  it  profitable  to  her,  perhaps." 

"  Perhaps,"  echoed  the  priest,  scornfully.  "  So  be  it. 
But  why  come  here  ?  " 

"To  ask  your  advice.  To  know  how  to  begin  my 
search.  You  know  this  country.  You  were  here  when 
that  boat  drifted  ashore  beyond  that  mountain." 

"  Ah,  indeed.  I  have  much  to  do  with  it.  It  is  an 
affair  of  the  alcalde  —  the  authorities  —  of  your  —  your 
police." 

"Is  it?" 

The  Padre  again  met  the  stranger's  eyes.  He  stopped, 
with  the  snuffbox  he  had  somewhat  ostentatiously  drawn 
from  his  pocket  still  open  in  his  hand. 

"  Why  is  it  not,  Senor  ? "  he  demanded. 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Car  me  I.      235 

"  If  she  lives,  she  is  a  young  lady  by  this  time,  and 
might  not  want  the  details  of  her  life  known  to  any 
one." 

"  And  how  will  you  recognize  your  baby  in  this  young 
lady  ? "  asked  Father  Pedro,  with  a  rapid  gesture,  indicat 
ing  the  comparative  heights  of  a  baby  and  an  adult. 

"  I  reckon  I  '11  know  her,  and  her  clothes  too ;  and 
whoever  found  her  would  n't  be  fool  enough  to  destroy 
them." 

"  After  fourteen  years  !  Good !  You  have  faith,  Se- 
nor"  — 

"  Cranch,"  supplied  the  stranger,  consulting  his  watch. 
"  But  time 's  up.  Business  is  business.  Good-by  ;  don't 
let  me  keep  you." 

He  extended  his  hand. 

The  Padre  met  it  with  a  dry,  unsympathetic  palm,  as 
sere  and  yellow  as  the  hills.  When  their  hands  sepa 
rated,  the  father  still  hesitated,  looking  at  Cranch.  If  he 
expected  further  speech  or  entreaty  from  him  he  was  mis 
taken,  for  the  American,  without  turning  his  head,  walked 
in  the  same  serious,  practical  fashion  down  the  avenue  of 
fig  trees,  and  disappeared  beyond  the  hedge  of  vines.  The 
outlines  of  the  mountain  beyond  were  already  lost  in  the 
fog.  Father  Pedro  turned  into  the  refectory. 

"  Antonio." 

A  strong  flavor  of  leather,  onions,  and  stable  preceded 
the  entrance  of  a  short,  stout  vaquero  from  the  little  patio. 

"  Saddle  Pinto  and  thine  own  mule  to  accompany  Fran 
cisco,  who  will  take  letters  from  me  to  the  Father  Supe 
rior  at  San  Jose  to-morrow  at  daybreak." 

"  At  daybreak,  reverend  father  ?  " 

"  At  daybreak.  Hark  ye,  go  by  the  mountain  trails 
and  avoid  the  highway.  Stop  at  no  posada  n\orfonda,  but 
if  the  child  is  weary,  rest  then  awhile  at  Don  Juan  Briones' 
or  at  the  rancho  of  the  Blessed  Fisherman.  Have  no  con- 


236      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

verse  with  stragglers,  least  of  all  those  gentile  Americanos. 
So  "... 

The  first  strokes  of  the  Angelas  came  from  the  nearer 
tower.  With  a  gesture  Father  Pedro  waved  Antonio 
aside,  and  opened  the  door  of  the  sacristy. 

"Ad Majorem  Dei  Gloria? 


II. 

The  hacienda  of  Don  Juan  Briones,  nestling  in  a 
wooded  cleft  of  the  foot-hills,  was  hidden,  as  Father 
Pedro  had  wisely  reflected,  from  the  straying  feet  of 
travelers  along  the  dusty  highway  to  San  Jose.  As 
Francisco,  emerging  from  the  Canada,  put  spurs  to  his 
mule  at  the  sight  of  the  whitewashed  walls,  Antonio 
grunted : 

"  Oh  aye,  little  priest !  thou  wast  tired  enough  a  mo 
ment  ago,  and  though  we  are  not  three  leagues  from  the 
Blessed  Fisherman,  thou  couldst  scarce  sit  thy  saddle 
longer.  Mother  of  God  !  and  all  to  see  that  little  mon 
grel,  Juanita." 

"  But,  good  Antonio,  Juanita  was  my  playfellow,  and  I 
may  not  soon  again  chance  this  way.  And  Juanita  is 
not  a  mongrel,  no  more  than  I  am." 

"  She  is  a  mestiza,  and  thou  art  a  child  of  the  Church, 
though  this  following  of  gypsy  wenches  does  not  show 
it." 

"  But  Father  Pedro  does  not  object,"  urged  the  boy. 

"  The  reverend  father  has  forgotten  he  was  ever  young," 
replied  Antonio,  sententiously,  "  or  he  would  n't  set  fire 
and  tow  together." 

"  What  sayest  thou,  good  Antonio  ?  "  asked  Francisco 
quickly,  opening  his  blue  eyes  in  frank  curiosity ;  "  who 
is  fire,  and  who  is  tow  ?  " 


At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL      237 

The  worthy  muleteer,  utterly  abashed  and  confounded 
by  this  display  of  the  acolyte's  direct  simplicity,  con 
tented  himself  by  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  a  vague 
"Quiensabe?" 

"  Come,"  said  the  boy,  gayly,  "  confess  it  is  only  the 
aguardiente of  the  Blessed  Fisherman  thou  missest.  Never 
fear,  Juanita  will  find  thee  some.  And  see !  here  she 
comes." 

There  was  a  flash  of  white  flounces  along  the  dark 
brown  corridor,  the  twinkle  of  satin  slippers,  the  flying 
out  of  long  black  braids,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy  a  young 
girl  threw  herself  upon  Francisco  as  he  entered  the /#//<?, 
and  nearly  dragged  him  from  his  mule. 

"  Have  a  care,  little  sister,"  laughed  the  acolyte,  look 
ing  at  Antonio,  "  or  there  will  be  a  conflagration.  Am  I 
the  fire  ?  "  he  continued,  submitting  to  the  two  sounding 
kisses  the  young  girl  placed  upon  either  cheek,  but  still 
keeping  his  mischievous  glance  upon  the  muleteer. 

"  Quien  sabe  ?  "  repeated  Antonio,  gruffly,  as  the  young 
girl  blushed  under  his  significant  eyes.  "  It  is  no  affair 
of  mine,"  he  added  to  himself,  as  he  led  Pinto  away. 
"  Perhaps  Father  Pedro  is  right,  and  this  young  twig  of 
the  Church  is  as  dry  and  sapless  as  himself.  Let  the 
mestizo,  burn  if  she  likes." 

"  Quick,  Pancho,"  said  the  young  girl,  eagerly  leading 
him  along  the  corridor.  "This  way.  I  must  talk  with 
thee  before  thou  seest  Don  Juan ;  that  is  why  I  ran  to 
intercept  thee,  and  not  as  that  fool  Antonio  would 
signify,  to  shame  thee.  Wast  thou  ashamed,  my  Pancho  ? " 

The  boy  threw  his  arm  familiarly  round  the  supple, 
stayless  little  waist,  accented  only  by  the  belt  of  the 
light  flounced  saya,  and  said,  "  But  why  this  haste  and 
feverishness,  'Nita  ?  And  now  I  look  at  thee,  thou  hast 
been  crying." 

They  had  emerged  from  a  door  in  the  corridor  into  the 


238      At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL 

bright  sunlight  of  a  walled  garden.  The  girl  dropped 
her  eyes,  cast  a  quick  glance  around  her,  and  said  : 

"Not  here;  to  the  arroyo ;  "  and  half  leading,  half  drag 
ging  him,  made  her  way  through  a  copse  of  manzanita 
and  alder  until  they  heard  the  faint  tinkling  of  water. 
"  Dost  thou  remember,"  said  the  girl,  "  it  was  here," 
pointing  to  an  embayed  pool  in  the  dark  current,  "that 
I  baptized  thee,  when  Father  Pedro  first  brought  thee 
here,  when  we  both  played  at  being  monks?  They  were 
dear  old  days,  for  Father  Pedro  would  trust  no  one  with 
thee  but  me,  and  always  kept  us  near  him." 

"  Aye,  and  he  said  I  would  be  profaned  by  the  touch 
of  any  other,  and  so  himself  always  washed  and  dressed 
me,  and  made  my  bed  near  his." 

"  And  took  thee  away  again,  and  I  saw  thee  not  till 
thou  earnest  with  Antonio,  over  a  year  ago,  to  the  cattle 
branding.  And  now,  my  Pancho,  I  may  never  see  thee 
again."  She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

The  little  acolyte  tried  to  comfort  her,  but  with  such 
abstraction  of  manner  and  inadequacy  of  warmth  that 
she  hastily  removed  his  caressing  hand. 

"  But  why?     What  has  happened?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

The  girl's  manner  had  changed.  Her  eyes  flashed,  and 
she  put  her  brown  fist  on  her  waist  and  began  to  rock 
from  side  to  side. 

"  But  I  '11  not  go,"  she  said,  viciously. 

"  Go  where  ? "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Oh,  where  ?  "  she  echoed,  impatiently.  "  Hear  me, 
Francisco.  Thou  knowest  I  am,  like  thee,  an  orphan  ;  but 
I  have  not,  like  thee,  a  parent  in  the  Holy  Church.  For, 
alas,"  she  added,  bitterly,  "  I  am  not  a  boy,  and  have  not 
a  lovely  voice  borrowed  from  the  angels.  I  was,  like 
thee,  a  foundling,  kept  by  the  charity  of  the  reverend 
fathers,  until  Don  Juan,  a  childless  widower,  adopted  me. 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      239 

I  was  happy,  not  knowing  and  caring  who  were  the  par 
ents  who  had  abandoned  me,  happy  only  in  the  love  of 
him  who  became  my  adopted  father.  And  now  "  —  She 
paused. 

"  And  now  ?  "  echoed  Francisco,  eagerly. 

"And  now  they  say  it  is  discovered  who  are  my 
parents." 

"  And  they  live  ?  " 

"  Mother  of  God !  no,"  said  the  girl,  with  scarcely  filial 
piety.  "  There  is  some  one,  a  thing,  a  mere  Don  Fulano, 
who  knows  it  all,  it  seems,  who  is  to  be  my  guardian." 

"  But  how  ?  Tell  me  all,  dear  Juanita,"  said  the  boy 
with  a  feverish  interest,  that  contrasted  so  strongly  with 
his  previous  abstraction  that  Juanita  bit  her  lips  with 
vexation. 

"Ah!  How?  Santa  Barbara!  An  extravaganza  for 
children.  A  necklace  of  lies.  I  am  lost  from  a  ship  of 
which  my  father  —  Heaven  rest  him  !  —  is  General,  and  I 
am  picked  up  among  the  weeds  on  the  sea-shore,  like 
Moses  in  the  bulrushes.  A  pretty  story,  indeed." 

"O  how  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Francisco  enthusias 
tically.  "  Ah,  Juanita,  would  it  had  been  me !  " 

"  Thee  /"  said  the  girl  bitterly,  —  "  thee  !  No !  —  it  was 
a  girl  wanted.  Enough,  it  was  me." 

"  And  when  does  the  guardian  come  ? "  persisted  the 
boy,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  He  is  here  even  now,  with  that  pompous  fool  the 
American  alcalde  from  Monterey,  a  wretch  who  knows 
nothing  of  the  country  or  the  people,  but  who  helped 
the  other  American  to  claim  me.  I  tell  thee,  Francisco, 
like  as  not  it  is  all  a  folly,  some  senseless  blunder  of 
those  Americanos  that  imposes  upon  Don  Juan's  sim 
plicity  and  love  for  them." 

"  How  looks  he,  this  Americano  who  seeks  thee  ? " 
asked  Francisco. 


240      At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL 

'  "What  care  I  how  he  looks,"  said  Juanita,  "or  what  he 
is  ?  He  may  have  the  four  S's,  for  all  I  care.  Yet,"  she 
added  with  a  slight  touch  of  coquetry,  "he  is  not  bad  to 
look  upon,  now  I  recall  him." 

"  Had  he  a  long  mustache  and  a  sad,  sweet  smile,  and 
a  voice  so  gentle  and  yet  so  strong  that  you  felt  he 
ordered  you  to  do  things  without  saying  it  ?  And  did  his 
eye  read  your  thoughts  ?  —  that  very  thought  that  you 
must  obey  him  ? " 

"  Saints  preserve  thee,  Pancho  !  Of  whom  dost  thou 
speak  ? " 

"  Listen,  Juanita.  It  was  a  year  ago,  the  eve  of  Nativi- 
dad  ;  he  was  in  the  church  when  I  sang.  Look  where 
I  would,  I  always  met  his  eye.  When  the  canticle  was 
sung  and  I  was  slipping  into  the  sacristy,  he  was  beside 
me.  He  spoke  kindly,  but  I  understood  him  not.  He 
put  into  my  hand  gold  for  an  aguinaldo.  I  pretended  I 
understood  not  that  also,  and  put  it  into  the  box  for  the 
poor.  He  smiled  and  went  away.  Often  have  I  seen 
him  since ;  and  last  night,  when  I  left  the  Mission,  he  was 
there  again  with  Father  Pedro." 

"  And  Father  Pedro,  what  said  he  of  him  ? "  asked  Ju 
anita. 

"  Nothing."  The  boy  hesitated.  "  Perhaps  —  because 
I  said  nothing  of  the  stranger." 

Juanita  laughed.  "  So  thou  canst  keep  a  secret  from 
the  good  father  when  thou  carest.  But  why  dost  thou 
think  this  stranger  is  my  new  guardian  ? " 

"  Dost  thou  not  see,  little  sister  ?  He  was  even  then 
seeking  thee,"  said  the  boy  with  joyous  excitement. 
"  Doubtless  he  knew  we  were  friends  and  playmates  — 
maybe  the  good  father  has  told  him  thy  secret.  For  it 
is  no  idle  tale  of  the  alcalde,  believe  me.  I  see  it  all ! 
It  is  true  !  " 

"Then  thou  wilt  let  him  take  me  away,"  exclaimed  the 


At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL      241 

girl  bitterly,  withdrawing  the  little  hand  he  had  clasped 
in  his  excitement. 

"  Alas,  Juanita,  what  avails  it  now  ?  I  am  sent  to  San 
Jose*,  charged  with  a  letter  to  the  Father  Superior,  who 
will  give  me  further  orders.  What  they  are,  or  how  long 
I  must  stay,  I  know  not.  But  I  know  this  :  the  good 
Father  Pedro's  eyes  were  troubled  when  he  gave  me  his 
blessing,  and  he  held  me  long  in  his  embrace.  Pray 
Heaven  I  have  committed  no  fault.  Still  it  may  be  that 
the  reputation  of  my  gift  hath  reached  the  Father  Supe 
rior,  and  he  would  advance  me ; "  and  Francisco's  eyes 
lit  up  with  youthful  pride  at  the  thought. 

Not  so  Juanita.  Her  black  eyes  snapped  suddenly 
with  suspicion,  she  drew  in  her  breath,  and  closed  her 
little  mouth  firmly.  Then  she  began  a  crescendo. 

Mother  of  God !  was  that  all  ?  Was  he  a  child,  to  be 
sent  away  for  such  time  or  for  such  purpose  as  best 
pleased  the  fathers  ?  Was  he  to  know  no  more  than  that  ? 
With  such  gifts  as  God  had  given  him,  was  he  not  at  least 
to  have  some  word  in  disposing  of  them  ?  Ah  !  she  would 
not  stand  it. 

The  boy  gazed  admiringly  at  the  piquant  energy  of  the 
little  figure  before  him,  and  envied  her  courage.  "  It  is 
the  mestizo  blood,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  Then  aloud, 
"  Thou  shouldst  have  been  a  man,  'Nita." 

"  And  thou  a  woman." 

"  Or  a  priest.     Eh,  what  is  that  ?  " 

They  had  both  risen,  Juanita  defiantly,  her  black 
braids  flying  as  she  wheeled  and  suddenly  faced  the 
thicket,  Francisco  clinging  to  her  with  trembling  hands 
and  whitened  lips.  A  stone,  loosened  from  the  hillside, 
had  rolled  to  their  feet;  there  was  a  crackling  in  the 
alders  on  the  slope  above  them. 

"  Is  it  a  bear,  or  a  brigand  ? "  whispered  Francisco, 
hurriedly,  sounding  the  uttermost  depths  of  his  terror  in 
the  two  words. 


242      At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL 

"  It  is  an  eavesdropper,"  said  Juanita,  impetuously ; 
"  and  who  and  why,  I  intend  to  know,"  and  she  started 
towards  the  thicket. 

"Do  not  leave  me,  good  Juanita;"  said  the  young 
acolyte,  grasping  the  girl's  skirt. 

"  Nay ;  run  to  the  hacienda  quickly,  and  leave  me  to 
search  the  thicket.  Run  !  " 

The  boy  did  not  wait  for  a  second  injunction,  but 
scuttled  away,  his  long  coat  catching  in  the  brambles, 
while  Juanita  darted  like  a  kitten  into  the  bushes.  Her 
search  was  fruitless,  however,  and  she  was  returning  im 
patiently,  when  her  quick  eye  fell  upon  a  letter  lying 
amid  the  dried  grass  where  she  and  Francisco  had  been 
seated  the  moment  before.  It  had  evidently  fallen  from 
his  breast  when  he  had  risen  suddenly,  and  been  over 
looked  in  his  alarm.  It  was  Father  Pedro's  letter  to  the 
Father  Superior  of  San  Jose. 

In  an  instant  she  had  pounced  upon  it  as  viciously  as 
if  it  had  been  the  interloper  she  was  seeking.  She  knew 
that  she  held  in  her  fingers  the  secret  of  Francisco's  sudden 
banishment.  She  felt  instinctively  that  this  yellowish  en 
velope,  with  its  red  string  and  its  blotch  of  red  seal,  was 
his  sentence  and  her  own.  The  little  mestizo,  had  not  been 
brought  up  to  respect  the  integrity  of  either  locks  or  seals, 
both  being  unknown  in  the  patriarchal  life  of  the  haci 
enda.  Yet  with  a  certain  feminine  instinct  she  looked 
furtively  around  her,  and  even  managed  to  dislodge  the 
clumsy  wax  without  marring  the  pretty  effigy  of  the 
crossed  keys  impressed  upon  it.  Then  she  opened  the 
letter  and  read. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  and  put  back  her  hair  from  her 
brown  temples.  Then  a  succession  of  burning  blushes 
followed  each  other  in  waves  from  her  neck  up,  and  died 
in  drops  of  moisture  in  her  eyes.  This  continued  until 
she  was  fairly  crying,  dropping  the  letter  from  her  hands 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      243 

and  rocking  to  and  fro.  In  the  midst  of  this  she  quickly 
stopped  again  ;  the  clouds  broke,  a  sunshine  of  laughter 
started  from  her  eyes,  she  laughed  shyly,  she  laughed 
loudly,  she  laughed  hysterically.  Then  she  stopped  again 
as  suddenly,  knitted  her  brows,  swooped  down  once  more 
upon  the  letter,  and  turned  to  fly.  But  at  the  same  mo 
ment  the  letter  was  quietly  but  firmly  taken  from  her 
hand,  and  Mr.  Jack  Cranch  stood  beside  her. 

Juanita  was  crimson,  but  unconquered.  She  mechani 
cally  held  out  her  hand  for  the  letter;  the  American 
took  her  little  fingers,  kissed  them,  and  said  : 

"  How  are  you  again  ?  " 

"  The  letter,"  replied  Juanita,  with  a  strong  disposition 
to  stamp  her  foot. 

"  But,"  said  Cranch,  with  business  directness,  "  you  Ve 
read  enough  to  know  it  is  n't  for  you." 

"  Nor  for  you  either,"  responded  Juanita. 

"  True.  It  is  for  the  Reverend  Father  Superior  of  San 
Josd  Mission.  I  '11  give  it  to  him." 

Juanita  was  becoming  alarmed,  first  at  this  prospect, 
second  at  the  power. the  stranger  seemed  to  be  gaining 
over  her.  She  recalled  Francisco's  description  of  him 
with  something  like  superstitious  awe. 

"  But  it  concerns  Francisco.  It  contains  a  secret  he 
should  know." 

"Then  you  can  tell  him  it.  Perhaps  it  would  come 
easier  from  you." 

Juanita  blushed  again.  "  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  half  dread 
ing  his  reply. 

"  Because,"  said  the  American,  quietly,  "  you  are  old 
playmates  ;  you  are  attached  to  each  other." 

Juanita  bit  her  lips.  "  Why  don't  you  read  it  your 
self  ?  "  she  asked  bluntly. 

"  Because  I  don't  read  other  people's  letters,  and  if  it 
concerns  me  you  '11  tell  me." 


244      At  th>e  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

"What  if  I  don't?" 

"  Then  the  Father  Superior  will." 

"  I  believe  you  know  Francisco's  secret  already,"  said 
the  girl,  boldly. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Then,  Mother  of  God  !  Seiior  Crancho,  what  do  you 
want  ? " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  separate  two  such  good  friends  as 
you  and  Francisco." 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  claim  us  both,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  sneer  that  was  not  devoid  of  coquetry. 

"I  should  be  delighted." 

"  Then  here  is  your  occasion,  Senor,  for  here  comes 
my  adopted  father,  Don  Juan,  and  your  friend,  Senor 
Br — r — own,  the  American  alcalde." 

Two  men  appeared  in  the  garden  path  below  them. 
The  stiff,  glazed,  broad-brimmed  black  hat,  surmounting 
a  dark  face  of  Quixotic  gravity  and  romantic  rectitude, 
indicated  Don  Juan  Briones.  His  companion,  lazy,  spe 
cious,  and  red  -  faced,  was  Senor  Brown,  the  American 
alcalde. 

"Well,  I  reckon  we  kin  about  call  the  thing  fixed,"  said 
Senor  Brown,  with  a  large  wave  of  the  hand,  suggesting  a 
sweeping  away  of  all  trivial  details.  "  Ez  I  was  saying  to 
the  Don  yer,  when  two  high-toned  gents  like  you  and  him 
come  together  in  a  delicate  matter  of  this  kind,  it  ain't  no 
hoss  trade  nor  sharp  practice.  The  Don  is  that  lofty  in 
principle  that  he  's  willin'  to  sacrifice  his  affections  for 
the  good  of  the  gal ;  and  you,  on  your  hand,  kalkilate  to 
see  all  he  's  done  for  her,  and  go  your  whole  pile  better. 
You'll  make  the  legal  formalities  good.  I  reckon  that 
old  Injin  woman  who  can  swear  to  the  finding  of  the 
baby  on  the  shore  will  set  things  all  right  yet.  For  the 
matter  o'  that,  if  you  want  anything  in  the  way  of  a  cer 
tificate,  I  'm  on  hand  always." 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.       245 

"  Juanita  and  myself  are  at  your  disposition,  caballeros" 
said  Don  Juan,  with  a  grave  exaltation.  "  Never  let  it 
be  said  that  the  Mexican  nation  was  outdone  by  the  great 
Americanos  in  deeds  of  courtesy  and  affection.  Let  it 
rather  stand  that  Juanita  was  a  sacred  trust  put  into  my 
hands  years  ago  by  the  goddess  of  American  liberty,  and 
nurtured  in  the  Mexican  eagle's  nest.  Is  it  not  so,  my 
soul  ? "  he  added,  more  humanly,  to  the  girl,  when  he  had 
quite  recovered  from  the  intoxication  of  his  own  speech. 
"  We  love  thee,  little  one,  but  we  keep  our  honor." 

"  There 's  nothing  mean  about  the  old  man,"  said 
Brown,  admiringly,  with  a  slight  dropping  of  his  left  eye 
lid;  "his  head  is  level,  and  he  goes  with  his  party." 

"  Thou  takest  my  daughter,  Sefior  Cranch,"  continued 
the  old  man,  carried  away  by  his  emotion ;  "  but  the 
American  nation  gives  me  a  son." 

"  You  know  not  what  you  say,  father,"  said  the  young 
girl,  angrily,  exasperated  by  a  slight  twinkle  in  the  Ameri 
can's  eye. 

"  Not  so,"  said  Cranch.  "  Perhaps  one  of  the  Ameri 
can  nation  may  take  him  at  his  word." 

"Then,  caballeros,  you  will,  for  the  moment  at  least, 
possess  yourselves  of  the  house  and  its  poor  hospitality," 
said  Don  Juan,  with  time -honored  courtesy,  producing 
the  rustic  key  of  the  gate  of  the  patio.  "  It  is  at  your 
disposition,  caballeros"  he  repeated,  leading  the  way  as 
his  guests  passed  into  the  corridor. 

Two  hours  passed. .  The  hills  were  darkening  on  their 
eastern  slopes ;  the  shadows  of  the  few  poplars  that 
sparsedly  dotted  the  dusty  highway  were  falling  in  long 
black  lines  that  looked  like  ditches  on  the  dead  level  of 
the  tawny  fields  ;  the  shadows  of  slowly  moving  cattle 
were  mingling  with  their  own  silhouettes,  and  becoming 
more  and  more  grotesque.  A  keen  wind  rising  in  the 
hills  was  already  creeping  from  the  Canada  as  from  the 


246      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

mouth  of  a  funnel,  and  sweeping  the  plains.  Antonio 
had  forgathered  with  the  servants,  had  pinched  the  ears 
of  the  maids,  had  partaken  of  aguardiente,  had  saddled 
the  mules,  —  Antonio  was  becoming  impatient. 

And  then  a  singular  commotion  disturbed  the  peaceful 
monotony  of  the  patriarchal  household  of  Don  Juan  Brio- 
nes.  The  stagnant  courtyard  was  suddenly  alive  with 
peons  and  servants,  running  hither  and  thither.  The  al 
leys  and  gardens  were  filled  with  retainers.  A  confusion 
of  questions,  orders,  and  outcrys  rent  the  air,  the  plains 
shook  with  the  galloping  of  a  dozen  horsemen.  For  the 
acolyte  Francisco,  of  the  Mission  San  Carmel,  had  disap 
peared  and  vanished,  and  from  that  day  the  hacienda  of 
Don  Juan  Briones  knew  him  no  more. 


III. 

When  Father  Pedro  saw  the  yellow  mules  vanish  under 
the  low  branches  of  the  oaks  beside  the  little  graveyard, 
caught  the  last  glitter  of  the  morning  sun  on  Pinto's 
shining  headstall,  and  heard  the  last  tinkle  of  Antonio's 
spurs,  something  very  like  a  mundane  sigh  escaped  him. 
To  the  simple  wonder  of  the  majority  of  early  worshipers 
—  the  half  -  breed  converts  who  rigorously  attended  the 
spiritual  ministrations  of  the  Mission,  and  ate  the  tem 
poral  provisions  of  the  reverend  fathers  —  he  deputed  the 
functions  of  the  first  mass  to  a  coadjutor,  and,  breviary 
in  hand,  sought  the  orchard  of  venerable  pear  trees. 
Whether  there  was  any  occult  sympathy  in  his  reflections 
with  the  contemplation  of  their  gnarled,  twisted,  gouty, 
and  knotty  limbs,  still  bearing  gracious  and  goodly  fruit, 
I  know  not,  but  it  was  his  private  retreat,  and  under  one 
of  the  most  rheumatic  and  misshapen  trunks  there  was 
a  rude  seat.  Here  Father  Pedro  sank,  his  face  toward 


At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL      247 

the  mountain  wall  between  him  and  the  invisible  sea. 
The  relentless,  dry,  practical  Californian  sunlight  falling 
on  his  face  grimly  pointed  out  a  night  of  vigil  and  suffer 
ing.  The  snuffy  yellow  of  his  eyes  was  injected  yet 
burning,  his  temples  were  ridged  and  veined  like  a  to 
bacco  leaf;  the  odor  of  desiccation  which  his  garments 
always  exhaled  was  hot  and  feverish,  as  if  the  fire  had 
suddenly  awakened  among  the  ashes. 

Of  what  was  Father  Pedro  thinking  ? 

He  was  thinking  of  his  youth,  a  youth  spent  under  the 
shade  of  those  pear  trees,  even  then  venerable  as  now. 
He  was  thinking  of  his  youthful  dreams  of  heathen  con 
quest,  emulating  the  sacrifices  and  labors  of  Junipero 
Serra ;  a  dream  cut  short  by  the  orders  of  the  archbishop, 
that  sent  his  companion,  Brother  Diego,  north  on  a  mis 
sion  to  strange  lands,  and  condemned  him  to  the  isolation 
of  San  Carmel.  He  was  thinking  of  that  fierce  struggle 
with  envy  of  a  fellow-creature's  better  fortune,  that,  con 
quered  by  prayer  and  penance,  left  him  patient,  submis 
sive,  and  devoted  to  his  humble  work  ;  how  he  raised  up 
converts  to  the  faith,  even  taking  them  from  the  breast  of 
heretic  mothers. 

He  recalled  how  once,  with  the  zeal  of  propagandism 
quickening  in  the  instincts  of  a  childless  man,  he  had 
dreamed  of  perpetuating  his  work  through  some  sinless 
creation  of  his  own  ;  of  dedicating  some  virgin  soul,  one 
over  whom  he  could  have  complete  control,  restricted  by 
no  human  paternal  weakness,  to  the  task  he  had  begun. 
But  how  ?  Of  all  the  boys  eagerly  offered  to  the  Church 
by  their  parents  there  seemed  none  sufficiently  pure  and 
free  from  parental  taint.  He  remembered  how  one  night, 
through  the  intercession  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  herself,  as  he 
firmly  then  believed,  this  dream  was  fulfilled.  An  Indian 
woman  brought  him  a  Waugee  child  —  a  baby-girl  that  she 
had  picked  up  on  the  sea-shore.  There  were  no  parents 


248      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

to  divide  the  responsibility,  the  child  had  no  past  to  con 
front,  except  the  memory  of  the  ignorant  Indian  woman, 
who  deemed  her  duty  done,  and  whose  interest  ceased  in 
giving  it  to  the  Padre.  The  austere  conditions  of  his 
monkish  life  compelled  him  to  the  first  step  in  his  adop 
tion  of  it  —  the  concealment  of  its  sex.  This  was  easy 
enough,  as  he  constituted  himself  from  that  moment  its 
sole  nurse  and  attendant,  and  boldly  baptized  it  among 
the  other  children  by  the  name  of  Francisco.  No  others 
knew  its  origin,  nor  cared  to  know.  Father  Pedro  had 
taken  a  muchacho  foundling  for  adoption ;  his  jealous 
seclusion  of  it  and  his  personal  care  was  doubtless  some 
sacerdotal  formula  at  once  high  and  necessary. 

He  remembered  with  darkening  eyes  and  impeded 
breath  how  his  close  companionship  and  daily  care  of  this 
helpless  child  had  revealed  to  him  the  fascinations  of  that 
paternity  denied  to  him  ;  how  he  had  deemed  it  his  duty 
to  struggle  against  the  thrill  of  baby  fingers  laid  upon  his 
yellow  cheeks,  the  pleading  of  inarticulate  words,  the  elo 
quence  of  wonder -seeing  and  mutely  questioning  eyes ; 
how  he  had  succumbed  again  and  again,  and  then  strug 
gled  no  more,  seeing  only  in  them  the  suggestion  of  child 
hood  made  incarnate  in  the  Holy  Babe.  And  yet,  even 
as  he  thought,  he  drew  from  his  gown  a  little  shoe,  and 
laid  it  beside  his  breviary.  It  was  Francisco's  baby  slip 
per,  a  duplicate  to  those  worn  by  the  miniature  waxen 
figure  of  the  Holy  Virgin  herself  in  her  niche  in  the 
transept. 

Had  he  felt  during  these  years  any  qualms  of  conscience 
at  this  concealment  of  the  child's  sex  ?  None.  For  to 
him  the  babe  was  sexless,  as  most  befitted  one  who 
was  to  live  and  die  at  the  foot  of  the  altar.  There  was 
no  attempt  to  deceive  God ;  what  mattered  else  ?  Nor 
was  he  withholding  the  child  from  the  ministrations  of  the 
sacred  sisters.  There  was  no  convent  near  the  Mission, 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      249 

and  as  each  year  passed,  the  difficulty  of  restoring  her  to 
the  position  and  duties  of  her  sex  became  greater  and 
more  dangerous.  And  then  the  acolyte's  destiny  was 
sealed  by  what  again  appeared  to  Father  Pedro  as  a  di 
rect  interposition  of  Providence.  The  child  developed 
a  voice  of  such  exquisite  sweetness  and  purity  that  an 
angel  seemed  to  have  strayed  into  the  little  choir,  and 
kneeling  worshipers  below,  transported,  gazed  upwards, 
half  expectant  of  a  heavenly  light  breaking  through  the 
gloom  of  the  raftered  ceiling.  The  fame  of  the  little 
singer  filled  the  valley  of  San  Carmel  ;  it  was  a  miracle 
vouchsafed  the  Mission  ;  Don  Jose  Peralta  remembered, 
ah  yes,  to  have  heard  in  old  Spain  of  boy  choristers 
with  such  voices  ! 

And  was  this  sacred  trust  to  be  withdrawn  from  him  ? 
Was  this  life,  which  he  had  brought  out  of  an  unknown 
world  of  sin,  unstained  and  pure,  consecrated  and  dedi 
cated  to  God,  just  in  the  dawn  of  power  and  promise  for 
the  glory  of  the  Mother  Church,  to  be  taken  from  his 
side  ?  And  at  the  word  of  a  self-convicted  man  of  sin  — 
a  man  whose  tardy  repentance  was  not  yet  absolved 
by  the  Holy  Church?  Never!  never!  Father  Pedro 
dwelt  upon  the  stranger's  rejections  of  the  ministrations 
of  the  Church  with  a  pitiable  satisfaction ;  had  he  ac 
cepted  it,  he  would  have  had  a  sacred  claim  upon  Father 
Pedro's  sympathy  and  confidence.  Yet  he  rose  again, 
uneasily  and  with  irregular  steps  returned  to  the  corridor, 
passing  the  door  of  the  familiar  little  cell  beside  his  own. 
The  window,  the  table,  and  even  the  scant  toilette  utensils 
were  filled  with  the  flowers  of  yesterday,  some  of  them 
withered  and  dry ;  the  white  gown  of  the  little  chorister 
was  hanging  emptily  against  the  wall.  Father  Pedro 
started  and  trembled ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  spiritual  life  of 
the  child  had  slipped  away  with  its  garments. 

In  that  slight  chill,  which  even  in  the  hottest  days  in 


250      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

California  always  invests  any  shadow  cast  in  that  white 
sunlight,  Father  Pedro  shivered  in  the  corridor.  Passing 
again  into  the  garden,  he  followed  in  fancy  the  wayfaring 
figure  of  Francisco,  saw  the  child  arrive  at  the  rancho  of 
Don  Juan,  and  with  the  fateful  blindness  of  all  dreamers 
projected  a  picture  most  unlike  the  reality.  He  followed 
the  pilgrims  even  to  San  Jose,  and  saw  the  child  deliver 
the  missive  which  gave  the  secret  of  her  sex  and  condi 
tion  to  the  Father  Superior.  That  the  authority  at  San 
Jose  might  dissent  with  the  Padre  of  San  Carmel,  or  de 
cline  to  carry  out  his  designs,  did  not  occur  to  the  one- 
idea'd  priest.  Like  all  solitary  people,  isolated  from 
passing  events,  he  made  no  allowance  for  occurrences 
outside  of  his  routine.  Yet  at  this  moment  a  sudden 
thought  whitened  his  yellow  cheek.  What  if  the  Father 
Superior  deemed  it  necessary  to  impart  the  secret  to 
Francisco  ?  Would  the  child  recoil  at  the  deception, 
and,  perhaps,  cease  to  love  him  ?  It  was  the  first  time, 
in  his  supreme  selfishness,  he  had  taken  the  acolyte's 
feelings  into  account.  He  had  thought  of  him  only  as 
one  owing  implicit  obedience  to  him  as  a  temporal  and 
spiritual  guide. 

"  Reverend  Father !  " 

He  turned  impatiently.  It  was  his  muleteer,  Jose. 
Father  Pedro's  sunken  eye  brightened. 

"  Ah,  Jose' !  Quickly,  then  ;  hast  thou  found  Sanchi- 
cha?" 

"  Truly,  your  reverence  !  And  I  have  brought  her  with 
me,  just  as  she  is  ;  though  if  your  reverence  make  more 
of  her  than  to  fill  the  six-foot  hole  and  say  a  prayer  over 
her,  I  '11  give  the  mule  that  brought  her  here  for  food  for 
the  bull's  horns.  She  neither  hears  nor  speaks,  but 
whether  from  weakness  or  sheer  wantonness,  I  know 
not." 

"  Peace,  then  !  and  let  thy  tongue  take  example  from 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      251 

hers.  Bring  her  with  thee  into  the  sacristy  and  attend 
without.  Go  ! " 

Father  Pedro  watched  the  disappearing  figure  of  the 
muleteer  and  hurriedly  swept  his  thin,  dry  hand,  veined 
and  ribbed  like  a  brown  November  leaf,  over  his  stony 
forehead,  with  a  sound  that  seemed  almost  a  rustle. 
Then  he  suddenly  stiffened  his  fingers  over  his  breviary, 
dropped  his  arms  perpendicularly  before  him,  and  with  a 
rigid  step  returned  to  the  corridor  and  passed  into  the 
sacristy. 

For  a  moment  in  the  half-darkness  the  room  seemed 
to  be  empty.  Tossed  carelessly  in  the  corner  appeared 
some  blankets  topped  by  a  few  straggling  black  horse 
tails,  like  an  unstranded  riata.  A  trembling  agitated  the 
mass  as  Father  Pedro  approached.  He  bent  over  the 
heap  and  distinguished  in  its  midst  the  glowing  black 
eyes  of  Sanchicha,  the  Indian  centenarian  of  the  Mission 
San  Carmel.  Only  her  eyes  lived.  Helpless,  boneless, 
and  jelly-like,  old  age  had  overtaken  her  with  a  mild  form 
of  deliquescence. 

"  Listen,  Sanchicha,"  said  the  father,  gravely.  "  It  is 
important  that  thou  shouldst  refresh  thy  memory  for  a 
moment.  Look  back  fourteen  years,  mother;  it  is  but 
yesterday  to  thee.  Thou  dost  remember  the  baby — a 
little  muchacha  thou  broughtest  me  then  —  fourteen  years 
ago  ?  " 

The  old  woman's  eyes  became  intelligent,  and  turned 
with  a  quick  look  towards  the  open  door  of  the  church, 
and  thence  towards  the  choir. 

The  Padre  made  a  motion  of  irritation.  "  No,  no ! 
Thou  dost  not  understand ;  thou  dost  not  attend  me. 
Knowest  thou  of  any  mark  of  clothing,  trinket,  or  amulet 
found  upon  the  babe  ?  " 

The  light  of  the  old  woman's  eyes  went  out.  She 
might  have  been  dead.  Father  Pedro  waited  a  moment, 
and  then  laid  his  hand  impatiently  on  her  shoulder. 


252      At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL 

"  Dost  thou  mean  there  are  none  ? " 

A  ray  of  light  struggled  back  into  her  eyes. 

"  None." 

"  And  thou  hast  kept  back  or  put  away  no  sign  nor 
mark  of  her  parentage  ?  Tell  me,  on  this  crucifix." 

The  eyes  caught  the  crucifix,  and  became  as  empty  as 
the  orbits  of  the  carven  Christ  upon  it. 

Father  Pedro  waited  patiently.  A  moment  passed  j 
only  the  sound  of  the  muleteer's  spurs  was  heard  in  the 
courtyard. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  Pepita  shall  give  thee  some  refreshment,  and  Jose  will 
bring  thee  back  again.  I  will  summon  him." 

He  passed  out  of  the  sacristy  door,  leaving  it  open.  A 
ray  of  sunlight  darted  eagerly  in,  and  fell  upon  the  gro 
tesque  heap  in  the  corner.  Sanchicha's  eyes  lived  again  ; 
more  than  that,  a  singular  movement  came  over  her  face. 
The  hideous  caverns  of  her  toothless  mouth  opened  — 
she  laughed.  The  step  of  Jose  was  heard  in  the  corridor, 
and  she  became  again  inert. 

The  third  day,  which  should  have  brought  the  return 
of  Antonio,  was  nearly  spent.  Father  Pedro  was  impa 
tient  but  not  alarmed.  The  good  fathers  at  San  Jose' 
might  naturally  detain  Antonio  for  the  answer,  which 
might  require  deliberation.  If  any  mischance  had  oc 
curred  to  Francisco,  Antonio  would  have  returned  or  sent 
a  special  messenger.  At  sunset  he  was  in  his  accustomed 
seat  in  the  orchard,  his  hands  clasped  over  the  breviary 
in  his  listless  lap,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  mountain  be 
tween  him  and  that  mysterious  sea  that  had  brought  so 
much  into  his  life.  He  was  filled  with  a  strange  desire 
to  see  it,  a  vague  curiosity  hitherto  unknown  to  his  pre 
occupied  life  ;  he  wished  to  gaze  upon  that  strand,  per 
haps  the  very  spot  where  she  had  been  found  ;  he  doubted 
not  his  questioning  eyes  would  discover  some  forgotten 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      253 

trace  of  her ;  under  his  persistent  will  and  aided  by  the 
Holy  Virgin,  the  sea  would  give  up  its  secret.  He  looked 
at  the  fog  creeping  along  the  summit,  and  recalled  the 
latest  gossip  of  San  Carmel ;  how  that  since  the  advent 
of  the  Americanos  it  was  gradually  encroaching  on  the 
Mission.  The  hated  name  vividly  recalled  to  him  the 
features  of  the  stranger  as  he  had  stood  before  him  three 
nights  ago,  in  this  very  garden ;  so  vividly  that  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  with  an  exclamation.  It  was  no  fancy,  but 
Senor  Cranch  himself  advancing  from  under  the  shadow 
of  a  pear  tree. 

"  I  reckoned  I  'd  catch  you  here,'*  said  Mr.  Cranch,  with 
the  same  dry,  practical  business  fashion,  as  if  he  were 
only  resuming  an  interrupted  conversation,  "  and  I  reckon 
I  ain't  going  to  keep  you  a  minit  longer  than  I  did 
t'  other  day."  He  mutely  referred  to  his  watch,  which  he 
already  held  in  his  hand,  and  then  put  it  back  in  his 
pocket.  "  Well !  we  found  her !  " 

"  Francisco,"  interrupted  the  priest  with  a  single 
stride,  laying  his  hand  upon  Cranch's  arm,  and  staring  into 
his  eyes. 

Mr.  Cranch  quietly  removed  Father  Pedro's  hand. 
"  I  reckon  that  was  n't  the  name  as  I  caught  it,"  he  re 
turned  dryly.  "  Had  n't  you  better  sit  down  ?  " 

"Pardon  me  —  pardon  me,  Senor,"  said  the  priest, 
hastily  sinking  back  upon  his  bench,  "  I  was  thinking  of 
other  things.  You — you  —  came  upon  me  suddenly.  I 
thought  it  was  the  acolyte.  Go  on,  Senor !  I  am  inter 
ested." 

"  I  thought  you  'd  be,"  said  Cranch,  quietly.  "  That 's 
why  I  came.  And  then  you  might  be  of  service  too." 

"  True,  true,"  said  the  priest,  with  rapid  accents  ;  "  and 
this  girl,  Senor,  this  girl  is  "  — 

"  Juanita,  the  mestiza,  adopted  daughter  of  Don  Juan 
Briones,  over  on  the  Santa  Clare  Valley,"  replied  Cranch, 


254      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder,  and  then  sitting 
down  upon  the  bench  beside  Father  Pedro. 

The  priest  turned  his  feverish  eyes  piercingly  upon  his 
companion  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  doggedly  fixed 
them  upon  the  ground.  Cranch  drew  a  plug  of  tobacco 
from  his  pocket,  cut  off  a  portion,  placed  it  in  his  cheek, 
and  then  quietly  began  to  strap  the  blade  of  his  jack- 
knife  upon  his  boot.  Father  Pedro  saw  it  from  under 
his  eyelids,  and  even  in  his  preoccupation  despised  him. 

"  Then  you  are  certain  she  is  the  babe  you  seek  ?  "  said 
the  father,  without  looking  up. 

"  I  reckon  as  near  as  you  can  be  certain  of  anything. 
Her  age  tallies  ;  she  was  the  only  foundling  girl  baby 
baptized  by  you,  you  know,"  —  he  partly  turned  round 
appealingly  to  the  Padre,  —  "  that  year.  Injin  woman 
says  she  picked  up  a  baby.  Looks  like  a  pretty  clear 
case,  don't  it  ?  " 

"  And  the  clothes,  friend  Cranch  ?  "  said  the  priest, 
with  his  eyes  still  on  the  ground,  and  a  slight  assumption 
of  easy  indifference. 

"  They  will  be  forthcoming,  like  enough,  when  the 
time  comes,"  said  Cranch.  "The  main  thing  at  first  was 
to  find  the  girl ;  that  was  my  job  ;  the  lawyers,  I  reckon, 
can  fit  the  proofs  and  say  what 's  wanted,  later  on." 

"  But  why  lawyers,"  continued  Padre  Pedro,  with  a 
slight  sneer  he  could  not  repress,  "if  the  child  is  found 
and  Senor  Cranch  is  satisfied  ?  " 

"  On  account  of  the  property.     Business  is  business  ! " 

"  The  property  ?  " 

Mr.  Cranch  pressed  the  back  of  his  knife-blade  on  his 
boot,  shut  it  up  with  a  click,  and  putting  it  in  his  pocket 
said  calmly : 

"  Well,  I  reckon  the  million  of  dollars  that  her  father 
left  when  he  died,  which  naturally  belongs  to  her,  will 
require  some  proof  that  she  is  his  daughter." 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      255 

He  had  placed  both  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
turned  his  eyes  full  upon  Father  Pedro.  The  priest  arose 
hurriedly. 

"  But  you  said  nothing  of  this  before,  Sefior  Cranch," 
said  he,  with  a  gesture  of  indignation,  turning  his  back 
quite  upon  Cranch, .  and  taking  a  step  towards  the  re 
fectory. 

"  Why  should  I  ?  I  was  looking  after  the  girl,  not  the 
property,"  returned  Cranch,  following  the  Padre  with 
watchful  eyes,  but  still  keeping  his  careless,  easy  at 
titude. 

"  Ah,  well !  Will  it  be  said  so,  think  you  ?  Eh  !  Bueno. 
What  will  the  world  think  of  your  sacred  quest,  eh?" 
continued  the  Padre  Pedro,  forgetting  himself  in  his 
excitement,  but  still  averting  his  face  from  his  companion. 

"  The  world  will  look  after  the  proofs,  and  I  reckon  not 
bother  if  the  proofs  are  all  right,"  replied  Cranch,  care 
lessly  ;  "  and  the  girl  won't  think  the  worse  for  me  for 
helping  her  to  a  fortune.  Hallo  !  you  've  dropped  some 
thing."  He  leaped  to  his  feet,  picked  up  the  breviary 
which  had  fallen  from  the  Padre's  fingers,  and  returned  it 
to  him  with  a  slight  touch  of  gentleness  that  was  unsus 
pected  in  the  man. 

The  priest's  dry,  tremulous  hand  grasped  the  volume 
without  acknowledgment. 

"  But  these  proofs  ?  "  he  said  hastily ;  "  these  proofs, 
Senor  ? " 

"  Oh,  well,  you  '11  testify  to  the  baptism,  you  know." 

"  But  if  I  refuse ;  if  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  this 
thing !  If  I  will  not  give  my  word  that  there  is  not  some 
mistake,"  said  the  priest,  working  himself  into  a  feverish 
indignation.  "That  there  are  not  slips  of  memory,  eh? 
Of  so  many  children  baptized,  is  it  possible  for  me  to 
know  which,  eh  ?  And  if  this  Juanjta  is  not  your  girl, 
eh?" 


256      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

"  Then  you  '11  help  me  to  find  who  is,"  said  Cranch, 
coolly. 

Father  Pedro  turned  furiously  on  his  tormentor.  Over 
come  by  his  vigil  and  anxiety,  he  was  oblivious  of  every 
thing  but  the  presence  of  the  man  who  seemed  to  usurp 
the  functions  of  his  own  conscience.  "  Who  are  you, 
who  speak  thus  ? "  he  said  hoarsely,  advancing  upon 
Cranch  with  outstretched  and  anathematizing  fingers. 
"Who  are  you,  Senor  Heathen,  who  dare  to  dictate  to 
me,  a  Father  of  Holy  Church  ?  I  tell  you,  I  will  have 
none  of  this.  Never  !  I  will  not !  From  this  moment, 
you  understand  —  nothing.  I  will  never  "... 

He  stopped.  The  first  stroke  of  the  Angelus  rang  from 
the  little  tower.  The  first  stroke  of  that  bell  before  whose 
magic  exorcism  all  human  passions  fled,  the  peaceful  bell 
that  had  for  fifty  years  lulled  the  little  fold  of  San  Carmel 
to  prayer  and  rest,  came  to  his  throbbing  ear.  His  trem 
bling  hands  groped  for  the  crucifix,  carried  it  to  his  left 
breast ;  his  lips  moved  in  prayer.  His  eyes  were  turned 
to  the  cold,  passionless  sky,  where  a  few  faint,  far-spaced 
stars  had  silently  stolen  to  their  places.  The  Angelus 
still  rang,  his  trembling  ceased,  he  remained  motionless 
and  rigid. 

The  American,  who  had  uncovered  in  deference  to  the 
worshiper  rather  than  the  rite,  waited  patiently.  The 
eyes  of  Father  Pedro  returned  to  the  earth,  moist  as  if 
with  dew  caught  from  above.  He  looked  half  absently 
at  Cranch. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  son,"  he  said,  in  a  changed  voice. 
"  I  am  only  a  worn  old  man.  I  must  talk  with  thee  more 
of  this  —  but  not  to-night  —  not  to-night ;  —  to-morrow  — 
to-morrow  —  to-morrow. " 

He  turned  slowly  and  appeared  to  glide  rather  than 
move  under  the  trees,  until  the  dark  shadow  of  the  Mis 
sion  tower  met  and  encompassed  him.  Cranch  followed 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      257 

him  with  anxious  eyes.     Then  he  removed  the  quid  of 
tobacco  from  his  cheek. 

"  Just   as   I   reckoned,"  remarked   he,  quite   audibly. 
"  He  's  clean  gold  on  the  bed  rock  after  all !  " 


IV. 

That  night  Father  Pedro  dreamed  a  strange  dream. 
How  much  of  it  was  reality,  how  long  it  lasted,  or  when 
he  awoke  from  it,  he  could  not  tell.  The  morbid  ex 
citement  of  the  previous  day  culminated  in  a  febrile  exal 
tation  in  which  he  lived  and  moved  as  in  a  separate  exist 
ence. 

This  is  what  he  remembered.  He  thought  he  had 
risen  at  night  in  a  sudden  horror  of  remorse,  and  making 
his  way  to  the  darkened  church  had  fallen  upon  his  knees 
before  the  high  altar,  when  all  at  once  the  acolyte's  voice 
broke  from  the  choir,  but  in  accents  so  dissonant  and  un 
natural  that  it  seemed  a  sacrilege,  and  he  trembled.  He 
thought  he  had  confessed  the  secret  of  the  child's  sex  to 
Cranch,  but  whether  the  next  morning  or  a  week  later 
he  did  not  know.  He  fancied,  too,  that  Cranch  had  also 
confessed  some  trifling  deception  to  him,  but  what,  or  why, 
he  could  not  remember ;  so  much  greater  seemed  the 
enormity  of  his  own  transgression.  He  thought  Cranch 
had  put  in  his  hands  the  letter  he  had  written  to  the  Fa 
ther  Superior,  saying  that  his  secret  was  still  safe,  and 
that  he  had  been  spared  the  avowal  and  the  scandal  that 
might  have  ensued.  But  through  all,  and  above  all,  he 
was  conscious  of  one  fixed  idea :  to  seek  the  sea-shore 
with  Sanchicha,  and  upon  the  spot  where  she  had  found 
Francisco,  meet  the  young  girl  who  had  taken  his  place, 
and  so  part  from  her  forever.  He  had  a  dim  recollection 
that  this  was  necessary  to  some  legal  identification  of  her, 


258      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

as  arranged  by  Cranch,  but  how  or  why  he  did  not  under 
stand  ;  enough  that  it  was  a  part  of  his  penance. 

It  was  early  morning  when  the  faithful  Antonio,  accom 
panied  by  Sanchicha  and  Jose,  rode  forth  with  him  from 
the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.  Except  on  the  expression 
less  features  of  the  old  woman,  there  was  anxiety  and 
gloom  upon  the  faces  of  the  little  cavalcade.  He  did  not 
know  how  heavily  his  strange  abstraction  and  hallucina 
tions  weighed  upon  their  honest  hearts.  As  they  wound 
up  the  ascent  of  the  mountain  he  noticed  that  Antonio 
and  Jose  conversed  with  bated  breath  and  many  pious 
crossings  of  themselves,  but  with  eyes  always  wistfully 
fixed  upon  him.  He  wondered  if,  as  part  of  his  penance, 
he  ought  not  to  proclaim  his  sin  and  abase  himself  before 
them  ;  but  he  knew  that  his  devoted  followers  would  in 
sist  upon  sharing  his  punishment ;  and  he  remembered 
his  promise  to  Cranch,  that  for  her  sake  he  would  say 
nothing.  Before  they  reached  the  summit  he  turned  once 
or  twice  to  look  back  upon  the  Mission.  How  small  it 
looked,  lying  there  in  the  peaceful  valley,  contrasted  with 
the  broad  sweep  of  the  landscape  beyond,  stopped  at  the 
farther  east  only  by  the  dim,  ghost-like  outlines  of  the 
Sierras.  But  the  strong  breath  of  the  sea  was  beginning 
to  be  felt ;  in  a  few  moments  more  they  were  facing  it 
with  lowered  sombreros  and  flying  serapes,  and  the  vast, 
glittering,  illimitable  Pacific  opened  out  beneath  them. 

Dazed  and  blinded,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  by  the  shining, 
restless  expanse,  Father  Pedro  rode  forward  as  if  still  in 
a  dream.  Suddenly  he  halted,  and  called  Antonio  to  his 
side. 

"  Tell  me,  child,  didst  thou  say  that  this  coast  was 
wild  and  desolate  of  man,  beast,  and  habitation  ?  " 

"  Truly  I  did,  reverend  father." 

"  Then  what  is  that  ?  "  pointing  to  the  shore. 

Almost  at  their  feet  nestled  a  cluster  of  houses,  at  the 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.       259 

head  of  an  arroyo  reaching  up  from  the  beach.  They 
looked  down  upon  the  smoke  of  a  manufactory  chimney, 
upon  strange  heaps  of  material  and  curious  engines  scat 
tered  along  the  sands,  with  here  and  there  moving  specks 
of  human  figures.  In  a  little  bay  a  schooner  swung  at 
her  cables. 

The  vaquero  crossed  himself  in  stupefied  alarm.  "I 
know  not,  your  reverence  ;  it  is  only  two  years  ago,  before 
the  rodeo,  that  I  was  here  for  strayed  colts,  and  I  swear  by 
the  blessed  bones  of  San  Antonio  that  it  was  as  I  said." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  like  these  Americanos,"  responded  the 
muleteer.  "  I  have  it  from  my  brother  Diego  that  he 
went  from  San  Jose  to  Pescadero  two  months  ago  across 
the  plains,  with  never  a  hut  norfonda  to  halt  at  all  the 
way.  He  returned  in  seven  days,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
plain  there  were  three  houses  and  a  mill  and  many  people. 
And  why  was  it  ?  Ah  !  Mother  of  God  !  one  had  picked 
up  in  the  creek  where  he  drank  that  much  of  gold  ; "  and 
the  muleteer  tapped  one  of  the  silver  coins  that  fringed  his 
jacket  sleeves  in  place  of  buttons. 

"  And  they  are  washing  the  sands  for  gold  there  now," 
said  Antonio,  eagerly  pointing  to  some  men  gathered 
round  a  machine  like  an  enormous  cradle.  "Let  us 
hasten  on." 

Father  Pedro's  momentary  interest  had  passed.  The 
words  of  his  companions  fell  dull  and  meaningless  upon 
his  dreaming  ears.  He  was  conscious  only  that  the  child 
was  more  a  stranger  to  him  as  an  outcome  of  this  hard, 
bustling  life,  than  when  he  believed  her  borne  to  him  over 
the  mysterious  sea.  It  perplexed  his  dazed,  disturbed 
mind  to  think  that  if  such  an  antagonistic  element  could 
exist  within  a  dozen  miles  of  the  Mission,  and  he  not 
know  it,  could  not  such  an  atmosphere  have  been  around 
him,  even  in  his  monastic  isolation,  and  he  remain  blind 
to  it  ?  Had  he  really  lived  in  the  world  without  knowing 


260      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

it  ?  Had  it  been  in  his  blood  ?  Had  it  impelled  him  to  — 
He  shuddered  and  rode  on. 

They  were  at  the  last  slope  of  the  zigzag  descent  to  the 
shore,  when  he  saw  the  figures  of  a  man  and  woman  mov 
ing  slowly  through  a  field  of  wild  oats,  not  far  from  the 
trail.  It  seemed  to  his  distorted  fancy  that  the  man  was 
Cranch.  The  woman  !  His  heart  stopped  beating.  Ah  ! 
could  it  be  ?  He  had  never  seen  her  in  her  proper  garb  : 
would  she  look  like  that  ?  Would  she  be  as  tall  ?  He 
thought  he  bade  Jose  and  Antonio  go  on  slowly  before 
with  Sanchicha,  and  dismounted,  walking  slowly  between 
the  high  stalks  of  grain  lest  he  should  disturb  them.  They 
evidently  did  not  hear  his  approach,  but  were  talking 
earnestly.  It  seemed  to  Father  Pedro  that  they  had  taken 
each  other's  hands,  and  as  he  looked  Cranch  slipped  his 
arm  round  her  waist.  With  only  a  blind  instinct  of  some 
dreadful  sacrilege  in  this  act,  Father  Pedro  would  have 
rushed  forward,  when  the  girl's  voice  struck  his  ear.  He 
stopped,  breathless.  It  was  not  Francisco,  but  Juanita, 
the  little  mestizo,. 

"  But  are  you  sure  you  are  not  pretending  to  love  me 
now,  as  you  pretended  to  think  I  was  the  muchacha  you 
had  run  away  with  and  lost  ?  Are  you  sure  it  is  not  pity 
for  the  deceit  you  practiced  upon  me  —  upon  Don  Juan  — 
upon  poor  Father  Pedro  ?  " 

It  seemed  as  if  Cranch  had  tried  to  answer  with  a  kiss, 
for  the  girl  drew  suddenly  away  from  him  with  a  coquet 
tish  fling  of  the  black  braids,  and  whipped  her  little 
brown  hands  behind  her. 

"  Well,  look  here,"  said  Cranch,  with  the  same  easy, 
good-natured,  practical  directness  which  the  priest  re 
membered,  and  which  would  have  passed  for  philosophy 
in  a  more  thoughtful  man,  "  put  it  squarely,  then.  In  the 
first  place,  it  was  Don  Juan  and  the  alcalde  who  first  sug 
gested  you  might  be  the  child." 


At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL      261 

"  But  you  have  said  you  knew  it  was  Francisco  all  the 
time,"  interrupted  Juanita. 

"  I  did  ;  but  when  I  found  the  priest  would  not  assist 
me  at  first,  and  admit  that  the  acolyte  was  a  girl,  I  pre 
ferred  to  let  him  think  I  was  deceived  in  giving  a  fortune 
to  another,  and  leave  it  to  his  own  conscience  to  permit 
it  or  frustrate  it.  I  was  right.  I  reckon  it  was  pretty  hard 
on  the  old  man,  at  his  time  of  life,  and  wrapped  up  as  he 
was  in  the  girl ;  but  at  the  moment  he  came  up  to  the 
scratch  like  a  man." 

"  And  to  save  him  you  have  deceived  me  ?  Thank  you, 
Senor,"  said  the  girl  with  a  mock  curtsey. 

"  I  reckon  I  preferred  to  have  you  for  a  wife  than  a 
daughter,"  said  Cranch,  "  if  that 's  what  you  mean. 
When  you  know  me  better,  Juanita,"  he  continued, 
gravely,  "you'll  know  that  I  would  never  have  let  you 
believe  I  sought  in  you  the  one  if  I  had  not  hoped  to  find 
in  you  the  other." 

"  Bueno  !    And  when  did  you  have  that  pretty  hope  ? " 

"  When  I  first  saw  you." 

"  And  that  was  —  two  weeks  ago." 

"  A  year  ago,  Juanita.  When  Francisco  visited  you  at 
the  rancho.  I  followed  and  saw  you." 

Juanita  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  suddenly 
darted  at  him,  caught  him  by  the  lapels  of  his  coat  and 
shook  him  like  a  terrier. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  did  not  love  that  Francisco  ? 
Speak  ! "  (She  shook  him  again.)  "  Swear  that  you  did 
not  follow  her !  " 

"But — I  did,"  said  Cranch,  laughing  and  shaking  be 
tween  the  clenching  of  the  little  hands. 

"  Judas  Iscariot !  Swear  you  do  not  love  her  all  this 
while." 

"  But,  Juanita  !  " 

"  Swear ! " 


262      At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL 

Cranch  swore.  Then  to  Father  Pedro's  intense  aston 
ishment  she  drew  the  American's  face  towards  her  own 
by  the  ears  and  kissed  him. 

"  But  you  might  have  loved  her,  and  married  a  fortune," 
said  Juanita,  after  a  pause. 

"  Where  would  have  been  my  reparation  —  my  duty  ? " 
returned  Cranch,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Reparation  enough  for  her  to  have  had  you,"  said 
Juanita,  with  that  rapid  disloyalty  of  one  loving  woman 
to  another  in  an  emergency.  This  provoked  another 
kiss  from  Cranch,  and  then  Juanita  said  demurely  : 

"  But  we  are  far  from  the  trail.  Let  us  return,  or  we 
shall  miss  Father  Pedro.  Are  you  sure  he  will  come  ?  " 

"  A  week  ago  he  promised  to  be  here  to  see  the  proofs 
to-day." 

The  voices  were  growing  fainter  and  fainter  ;  they  were 
returning  to  the  trail. 

Father  Pedro  remained  motionless.  A  week  ago  !  Was 
it  a  week  ago  since  —  since  what  ?  And  what  had  he 
been  doing  here  ?  Listening !  He  !  Father  Pedro,  lis 
tening  like  an  idle  peon  to  the  confidences  of  two  lovers. 
But  they  had  talked  of  him,  of  his  crime,  and  the  man 
had  pitied  him.  Why  did  he  not  speak  ?  Why  did  he  not 
call  after  them  ?  He  tried  to  raise  his  voice.  It  sank  in 
his  throat  with  a  horrible  choking  sensation.  The  nearest 
heads  of  oats  began  to  nod  to  him,  he  felt  himself  swaying 
backward  and  forward.  He  fell  —  heavily,  down,  down, 
down,  from  the  summit  of  the  mountain  to  the  floor  of 
the  Mission  chapel,  and  there  he  lay  in  the  dark. 


"He  moves." 

"  Blessed  Saint  Anthony  preserve  him  !  " 
It  was  Antonio's  voice,  it  was  Jose's  arm,  it  was  the 
field  of  wild  oats,  the  sky  above  his  head,  — all   un 
changed. 


At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.      263 

"  What  has  happened  ? "  said  the  priest  feebly. 

"A  giddiness  seized  your  reverence  just  now,  as  we 
were  coming  to  seek  you." 

"  And  you  met  no  one  ?  " 

"  No  one,  your  reverence." 

Father  Pedro  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"  But  who  are  these  ?  "  he  said,  pointing  to  two  figures 
who  now  appeared  upon  the  trail. 

Antonio  turned. 

"  It  is  the  Americano,  Senor  Cranch,  and  his  adopted 
daughter,  the  mestizo,  Juanita,  seeking  your  reverence,  me- 
thinks." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Father  Pedro. 

Cranch  came  forward  and  greeted  the  priest  cordially. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you,  Father  Pedro,"  he  said,  mean 
ingly,  with  a  significant  glance  at  Jose'  and  Antonio,  "  to 
come  so  far  to  bid  me  and  my  adopted  daughter  farewell. 
We  depart  when  the  tide  serves,  but  not  before  you  par 
take  of  our  hospitality  in  yonder  cottage." 

Father  Pedro  gazed  at  Cranch  and  then  at  Juanita. 

"  I  see,"  he  stammered.  "  But  she  goes  not  alone. 
She  will  be  strange  at  first.  She  takes  some  friend,  per 
haps  —  some  companion  ?  "  he  continued,  tremulously. 

"  A  very  old  and  dear  one,  Father  Pedro,  who  is  wait 
ing  for  us  now." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  little  white  cottage,  so  little  and 
white  and  recent,  that  it  seemed  a  mere  fleck  of  sea-foam 
cast  on  the  sands.  Disposing  of  Jose'  and  Antonio  in  the 
neighboring  workshop  and  outbuildings,  he  assisted  the 
venerable  Sanchicha  to  dismount,  and,  together  with  Fa 
ther  Pedro  and  Juanita,  entered  a  white  palisaded  enclos 
ure  beside  the  cottage,  and  halted  before  what  appeared 
to  be  a  large  folding  trap-door,  covering  a  slight  sandy 
mound.  It  was  locked  with  a  padlock ;  beside  it  stood 
the  American  alcalde  and  Don  Juan  Briones.  Father 


264      At  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel. 

Pedro  looked  hastily  around  for  another  figure,  but  it  was 
not  there. 

"Gentlemen,"  began  Cranch,  in  his  practical  business 
way,  "  I  reckon  you  all  know  we  've  come  here  to  identify 
a  young  lady,  who  "  —  he  hesitated  —  "  was  lately  under 
the  care  of  Father  Pedro,  with  a  foundling  picked  up  on 
this  shore  fifteen  years  ago  by  an  Indian  woman.  How 
this  foundling  came  here,  and  how  I  was  concerned  in  it, 
you  all  know.  I  Ve  told  everybody  here  how  I  scrambled 
ashore,  leaving  the  baby  in  the  dingy,  supposing  it  would 
be  picked  up  by  the  boat  pursuing  me.  I  Ve  told  some 
of  you,"  he  looked  at  Father  Pedro,  "how  I  first  discov 
ered,  from  one  of  the  men,  three  years  ago,  that  the  child 
was  not  found  by  its  father.  But  I  have  never  told  any 
one,  before  now,  I  knew  it  was  picked  up  here. 

"  I  never  could  tell  the  exact  locality  where  I  came 
ashore,  for  the  fog  was  coming  on  as  it  is  now.  But  two 
years  ago  I  came  up  with  a  party  of  gold  hunters  to  work 
these  sands.  One  day,  digging  near  this  creek,  I  struck 
something  embedded  deep  below  the  surface.  Well, 
gentlemen,  it  was  n't  gold,  but  something  worth  more  to 
me  than  gold  or  silver.  Here  it  is." 

At  a  sign  the  alcalde  unlocked  the  doors  and  threw 
them  open.  They  disclosed  an  irregular  trench,  in  which, 
filled  with  sand,  lay  the  half-excavated  stern  of  a  boat. 

"  It  was  the  dingy  of  the  Trinidad,  gentlemen  ;  you  can 
still  read  her  name.  I  found  hidden  away,  tucked  under 
the  stern  sheets,  moldy  and  water -worn,  some  clothes 
that  I  recognized  to  be  the  baby's.  I  knew  then  that 
the  child  had  been  taken  away  alive  for  some  purpose, 
and  the  clothes  were  left  so  that  she  should  carry  no  trace 
with  her.  I  recognized  the  hand  of  an  Indian.  I  set  to 
work  quietly.  I  found  Sanchicha  here,  she  confessed  to 
finding  a  baby,  but  what  she  had  done  with  it  she  would 
not  at  first  say.  But  since  then  she  has  declared  before 


At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL      265 

the  alcalde  that  she  gave  it  to  Father  Pedro  of  San  Car- 
mel,  and  that  here  it  stands  —  Francisco  that  was  !  Fran- 
cisca  that  it  is  !  " 

He  stepped  aside  to  make  way  for  a  tall  girl,  who  had 
approached  from  the  cottage. 

Father  Pedro  had  neither  noticed  the  concluding  words 
nor  the  movement  of  Cranch.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  imbecile  Sanchicha,  —  Sanchicha,  of  whom,  to  render 
his  rebuke  more  complete,  the  Deity  seemed  to  have 
worked  a  miracle,  and  restored  intelligence  to  eye  and 
lip.  He  passed  his  hand  tremblingly  across  his  forehead, 
and  turned  away,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  last  comer. 

It  was  she.  The  moment  he  had  longed  for  and 
dreaded  had  come.  She  stood  there,  animated,  hand 
some,  filled  with  a  hurtful  consciousness  in  her  new 
charms,  her  fresh  finery,  and  the  pitiable  trinkets  that  had 
supplanted  her  scapulary,  and  which  played  under  her 
foolish  fingers.  The  past  had  no  place  in  her  preoccu 
pied  mind  ;  her  bright  eyes  were  full  of  eager  anticipa 
tion  of  a  substantial  future.  The  incarnation  of  a  frivolous 
world,  even  as  she  extended  one  hand  to  him  in  half- 
coquettish  embarrassment  she  arranged  the  folds  of  her 
dress  with  the  other.  At  the  touch  of  her  fingers  he 
felt  himself  growing  old  and  cold.  Even  the  penance  of 
parting,  which  he  had  looked  forward  to,  was  denied  him  ; 
there  was  no  longer  sympathy  enough  for  sorrow.  He 
thought  of  the  empty  chorister's  robe  in  the  little  cell, 
but  not  now  with  regret.  He  only  trembled  to  think  of 
the  flesh  that  he  had  once  caused  to  inhabit  it. 

"That 's  all,  gentlemen,"  broke  in  the  practical  voice 
of  Cranch.  "  Whether  there  are  proofs  enough  to  make 
Francisca  the  heiress  of  her  father's  wealth,  the  lawyers 
must  say.  I  reckon  it 's  enough  for  me  that  they  give  me 
the  chance  of  repairing  a  wrong  by  taking  her  father's 
place.  After  all,  it  was  a  mere  chance." 


266      At  the  Mission  of  San  CarmeL 

"  It  was  the  will  of  God,"  said  Father  Pedro,  solemnly. 

They  were  the  last  words  he  addressed  them.  For 
when  the  fog  had  begun  to  creep  in-shore,  hastening  their 
departure,  he  only  answered  their  farewells  by  a  silent 
pressure  of  the  hand,  mute  lips,  and  far-off  eyes. 

When  the  sound  of  their  laboring  oars  grew  fainter,  he 
told  Antonio  to  lead  him  and  Sanchicha  again  to  the 
buried  boat.  There  he  bade  her  kneel  beside  him.  "  We 
will  do  penance  here,  thou  and  I,  daughter,"  he  said, 
gravely.  When  the  fog  had  drawn  its  curtain  gently 
around  the  strange  pair,  and  sea  and  shore  were  blotted 
out,  he  whispered,  "  Tell  me,  it  was  even  so,  was  it  not, 
daughter,  on  the  night  she  came  ? "  When  the  distant 
clatter  of  blocks  and  rattle  of  cordage  came  from  the 
unseen  vessel,  now  standing  out  to  sea,  he  whispered 
again,  "  So,  this  is  what  thou  didst  hear,  even  then." 
And  so  during  the  night  he  marked,  more  or  less  audibly 
to  the  half-conscious  woman  at  his  side,  the  low  whisper 
of  the  waves,  the  murmur  of  the  far-off  breakers,  the 
lightening  and  thickening  of  the  fog,  the  phantoms  of 
moving  shapes,  and  the  slow  coming  of  the  dawn.  And 
when  the  morning  sun  had  rent  the  veil  over  land  and 
sea,  Antonio  and  Jose  found  him,  haggard  but  erect, 
beside  the  trembling  old  woman,  with  a  blessing  on  his 
lips,  pointing  to  the  horizon  where  a  single  sail  still  glim 
mered: — 

"  Va  Usted  con  &ios." 


a  TBitte 


i. 


SHE  was  barely  twenty-three  years  old.  It  is  probable 
that  up  to  that  age,  and  the  beginning  of  this  episode,  her 
life  had  been  uneventful.  Born  to  the  easy  mediocrity  of 
such  compensating  extremes  as  a  small  farmhouse  and 
large  lands,  a  good  position  and  no  society,  in  that  vast 
grazing  district  of  Kentucky  known  as  the  "  Blue  Grass  " 
region,  all  the  possibilities  of  a  Western  American  girl's 
existence  lay  before  her.  A  piano  in  the  bare-walled 
house,  the  latest  patented  mower  in  the  limitless  meadows, 
and  a  silk  dress  sweeping  the  rough  floor  of  the  unpainted 
"meeting-house,"  were  already  the  promise  of  those 
possibilities.  Beautiful  she  was,  but  the  power  of  that 
beauty  was  limited  by  being  equally  shared  with  her 
few  neighbors.  There  were  small,  narrow,  arched  feet 
besides  her  own  that  trod  the  uncarpeted  floors  of  out 
lying  log  cabins  with  equal  grace  and  dignity;  bright, 
clearly  opened  eyes  that  were  equally  capable  of  looking 
unabashed  upon  princes  and  potentates,  as  a  few  later 
did,  and  the  heiress  of  the  county  judge  read  her  own 
beauty  without  envy  in  the  frank  glances  and  unlowered 
crest  of  the  blacksmith's  daughter.  Eventually  she  had 
married  the  male  of  her  species,  a  young  stranger,  who, 
as  schoolmaster  in  the  nearest  town,  had  utilized  to  some 
local  extent  a  scant  capital  of  education.  In  obedience 
to  the  unwritten  law  of  the  West,  after  the  marriage  was 
celebrated  the  doors  of  the  ancestral  home  cheerfully 
opened,  and  bride  and  bridegroom  issued  forth,  without 


268  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

regret  and  without  sentiment,  to  seek  the  further  pos 
sibilities  of  a  life  beyond  these  already  too  familiar 
voices.  With  their  departure  for  California  as  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Spencer  Tucker,  the  parental  nest  in  the  Blue  Grass 
meadows  knew  them  no  more. 

They  submitted  with  equal  cheerfulness  to  the  priva 
tions  and  excesses  of  their  new  conditions.  Within  three 
years  the  schoolmaster  developed  into  a  lawyer  and  capi 
talist,  the  Blue  Grass  bride  supplying  a  grace  and  ease  to 
these  transitions  that  were  all  her  own.  She  softened 
the  abruptness  of  sudden  wealth,  mitigated  the  austerities 
of  newly  acquired  power,  and  made  the  most  glaring  in 
congruity  picturesque.  Only  one  thing  seemed  to  limit 
their  progress  in  the  region  of  these  possibilities.  They 
were  childless.  It  was  as  if  they  had  exhausted  the 
future  in  their  own  youth,  leaving  little  or  nothing  for 
another  generation  to  do. 

A  southwesterly  storm  was  beating  against  the  dress 
ing-room  windows  of  their  new  house  in  one  of  the  hilly 
suburbs  of  San  Francisco,  and  threatening  the  unseason 
able  frivolity  of  the  stucco  ornamentation  of  cornice  and 
balcony.  Mrs.  Tucker  had  been  called  from  the  con 
templation  of  the  dreary  prospect  without  by  the  arrival 
of  a  visitor.  On  entering  the  drawing-room  she  found 
him  engaged  in  a  half  admiring,  half  resentful  examina 
tion  of  its  new  furniture  and  hangings.  Mrs.  Tucker  at 
once  recognized  Mr.  Calhoun  Weaver,  a  former  Blue 
Grass  neighbor;  with  swift  feminine  intuition  she  also 
felt  that  his  slight  antagonism  was  likely  to  be  trans 
ferred  from  her  furniture  to  herself.  Waiving  it  with  the 
lazy  amiability  of  Southern  indifference,  she  welcomed 
him  by  the  familiarity  of  a  Christian  name. 

"  I  reckoned  that  mebbee  you  opined  old  Blue  Grass 
friends  would  n't  naturally  hitch  on  to  them  fancy  doins," 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  269 

he  said,  glancing  around  the  apartment  to  avoid  her  clear 
eyes,  as  if  resolutely  setting  himself  against  the  old  charm 
of  her  manner  as  he  had  against  the  more  recent  glory 
of  her  surroundings,  "  but  I  thought  I  'd  just  drop  in  for 
the  sake  of  old  times." 

"  Why  should  n't  you,  Cal  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker  with  a 
frank  smile. 

"Especially  as  I'm  going  up  to  Sacramento  to-night 
with  some  influential  friends,"  he  continued,  with  an 
ostentation  calculated  to  resist  the  assumption  of  her 
charms  and  her  furniture.  "  Senator  Dyce  of  Kentucky, 
and  his  cousin  Judge  Briggs ;  perhaps  you  know  'em,  or 
maybe  Spencer  —  I  mean  Mr.  Tucker — does." 

"I  reckon,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker  smiling;  "but  tell  me 
something  about  the  boys  and  girls  at  Vineville,  and 
about  yourself.  You  're  looking  well,  and  right  smart 
too."  She  paused  to  give  due  emphasis  to  this  latter 
recognition  of  a  huge  gold  chain  with  which  her  visitor 
was  somewhat  ostentatiously  trifling. 

"  I  did  n't  know  as  you  cared  to  hear  anything  about 
Blue  Grass,"  he  returned,  a  little  abashed.  "  I  Ve  been 
away  from  there  some  time  myself,"  he  added,  his  uneasy 
vanity  taking  fresh  alarm  at  the  faint  suspicion  of  patron 
age  on  the  part  of  his  hostess.  "They're  doin'  well 
though  ;  perhaps  as  well  as  some  others." 

"And  you  're  not  married  yet,"  continued  Mrs.  Tucker, 
oblivious  of  the  innuendo.  "  Ah  Cal,"  she  added  archly, 
"  I  am  afraid  you  are  as  fickle  as  ever.  What  poor  girl 
in  Vineville  have  you  left  pining  ? " 

The  simple  face  of  the  man  before  her  flushed  with 
foolish  gratification  at  this  old-fashioned,  ambiguous  flat 
tery.  "Now  look  yer,  Belle,"  he  said,  chuckling,  "if 
you  're  talking  of  old  times  and  you  think  I  bear  malice 
agin  Spencer,  why  "  — 

But  Mrs.  Tucker  interrupted  what  might  have  been  an 


270  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

inopportune  sentimental  retrospect  with  a  finger  of  arch 
but  languid  warning.  "  That  will  do  !  I  'm  dying  to 
know  all  about  it,  and  you  must  stay  to  dinner  and  tell 
me.  It 's  right  mean  you  can't  see  Spencer  too ;  but  he 
is  n't  back  from  Sacramento  yet." 

Grateful  as  a  tete-a-tete  with  his  old  neighbor  in  her 
more  prosperous  surroundings  would  have  been,  if  only 
for  the  sake  of  later  gossiping  about  it,  he  felt  it  would  be 
inconsistent  with  his  pride  and  his  assumption  of  present 
business.  More  than  that,  he  was  uneasily  conscious 
that  in  Mrs.  Tucker's  simple  and  unaffected  manner  there 
was  a  greater  superiority  than  he  had  ever  noticed  dur 
ing  their  previous  acquaintance.  He  would  have  felt 
kinder  to  her  had  she  shown  any  "  airs  and  graces," 
which  he  could  have  commented  upon  and  forgiven.  He 
stammered  some  vague  excuse  of  preoccupation,  yet  lin 
gered  in  the  hope  of  saying  something  which,  if  not  ag 
gressively  unpleasant,  might  at  least  transfer  to  her  in 
dolent  serenity  some  of  his  own  irritation.  "  I  reckon," 
he  said,  as  he  moved  hesitatingly  toward  the  door,  "  that 
Spencer  has  made  himself  easy  and  secure  in  them  busi 
ness  risks  he  's  taking.  That  'ere  Alameda  ditch  affair 
they're  talking  so  much  about  is  a  mighty  big  thing, 
rather  too  big  if  it  ever  got  to  falling  back  on  him.  But  I 
suppose  he 's  accustomed  to  take  risks  ?  " 

"Of  course  he  is,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker  gayly.  "He 
married  me" 

The  visitor  smiled  feebly,  but  was  not  equal  to  the  op 
portunity  offered  for  gallant  repudiation.  "  But  suppose 
you  ain't  accustomed  to  risks  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?     I  married  him"  said  Mrs.  Tucker. 

Mr.  Calhoun  Weaver  was  human,  and  succumbed  to 
this  last  charming  audacity.  He  broke  into  a  noisy  but 
genuine  laugh,  shook  Mrs.  Tucker's  hand  with  effusion, 
said,  "  Now  that 's  regular  Blue  Grass  and  no  mistake  !  " 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  271 

and  retreated  under  cover  of  his  hilarity.  In  the  hall  he 
made  a  rallying  stand  to  repeat  confidentially  to  the  ser 
vant  who  had  overheard  them,  "  Blue  Grass  all  over,  you 
bet  your  life,"  and,  opening  the  door,  was  apparently 
swallowed  up  in  the  tempest. 

Mrs.  Tucker's  smile  kept  her  lips  until  she  had  re 
turned  to  her  room,  and  even  then  languidly  shone  in 
her  eyes  for  some  minutes  after,  as  she  gazed  abstract 
edly  from  her  window  on  the  storm-tossed  bay  in  the  dis 
tance.  Perhaps  some  girlish  vision  of  the  peaceful  Blue 
Grass  plain  momentarily  usurped  the  prospect ;  but  it  is 
to  be  doubted  if  there  was  much  romance  in  that  retro 
spect,  or  that  it  was  more  interesting  to  her  than  the 
positive  and  sharply  cut  outlines  of  the  practical  life  she 
now  led.  Howbeit  she  soon  forgot  this  fancy  in  lazily 
watching  a  boat  that,  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale,  was  beat 
ing  round  Alcatraz  Island.  Although  at  times  a  mere 
blank  speck  on  the  gray  waste  of  foam,  a  closer  scrutiny 
showed  it  to  be  one  of  those  lateen-rigged  Italian  fishing- 
boats  that  so  often  flecked  the  distant  bay.  Lost  in  the 
sudden  darkening  of  rain,  or  reappearing  beneath  the  lifted 
curtain  of  the  squall,  she  watched  it  weather  the  island, 
and  then  turn  its  laboring  but  persistent  course  toward 
the  open  channel.  A  rent  in  the  Indian-inky  sky,  that 
showed  the  narrowing  portals  of  the  Golden  Gate  be 
yond,  revealed,  as  unexpectedly,  the  destination  of  the 
little  craft,  a  tall  ship  that  hitherto  lay  hidden  in  the  mist 
of  the  Saucelito  shore.  As  the  distance  lessened  be 
tween  boat  and  ship,  they  were  again  lost  in  the  down 
ward  swoop  of  another  squall.  When  it  lifted,  the  ship 
was  creeping  under  the  headland  towards  the  open  sea, 
but  the  boat  was  gone.  Mrs.  Tucker  in  vain  rubbed  the 
pane  with  her  handkerchief,  it  had  vanished.  Mean 
while  the  ship,  as  she  neared  the  Gate,  drew  out  from  the 
protecting  headland,  stood  outlined  for  a  moment  with 


272  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

spars  and  canvas  hearsed  in  black  against  the  lurid  rent 
in  the  horizon,  and  then  seemed  to  sink  slowly  into  the 
heaving  obscurity  beyond.  A  sudden  onset  of  rain  against 
the  windows  obliterated  the  remaining  prospect ;  the  en 
trance  of  a  servant  completed  the  diversion. 

"  Captain  Poindexter,  rna'am  !  " 

Mrs.  Tucker  lifted  her  pretty  eyebrows  interrogatively. 
Captain  Poindexter  was  a  legal  friend  of  her  husband, 
and  had  dined  there  frequently ;  nevertheless  she  asked, 
"  Did  you  tell  him  Mr.  Tucker  was  not  at  home  ?  " 

"Yes,  'm." 

"Did  he  ask  for  w<??" 

"  Yes,  'm." 

"  Tell  him  I  '11  be  down  directly." 

Mrs.  Tucker's  quiet  face  did  not  betray  the  fact  that 
this  second  visitor  was  even  less  interesting  than  the  first. 
In  her  heart  she  did  not  like  Captain  Poindexter.  With 
a  clever  woman's  instinct,  she  had  early  detected  the  fact 
that  he  had  a  superior,  stronger  nature  than  her  husband ; 
as  a  loyal  wife,  she  secretly  resented  the  occasional  un 
conscious  exhibition  of  this  fact  on  the  part  of  his  inti 
mate  friend  in  their  familiar  intercourse.  Added  to  this 
slight  jealousy  there  was  a  certain  moral  antagonism  be 
tween  herself  and  the  captain  which  none  but  themselves 
knew.  They  were  both  philosophers,  but  Mrs.  Tucker's 
serene  and  languid  optimism  would  not  tolerate  the  com 
passionate  and  kind-hearted  pessimisms  of  the  lawyer. 
"  Knowing  what  Jack  Poindexter  does  of  human  nature," 
her  husband  had  once  said,  "  it 's  mighty  fine  in  him  to 
be  so  kind  and  forgiving.  You  ought  to  like  him  better, 
Belle."  "  And  qualify  myself  to  be  forgiven,"  said  the 
lady  pertly.  "  I  don't  see  what  you  're  driving  at,  Belle  ; 
I  give  it  up,"  had  responded  the  puzzled  husband.  Mrs. 
Tucker  kissed  his  high  but  foolish  forehead  tenderly,  and 
said,  "  I  'm  glad  you  don't,  dear." 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  273 

Meanwhile  her  second  visitor  had,  like  the  first,  em 
ployed  the  interval  in  a  critical  survey  of  the  glories  of 
the  new  furniture,  but  with  apparently  more  compassion 
than  resentment  in  his  manner.  Once  only  had  his  ex 
pression  changed.  Over  the  fireplace  hung  a  large  photo 
graph  of  Mr.  Spencer  Tucker.  It  was  retouched,  refined, 
and  idealized  in  the  highest  style  of  that  polite  and  dip 
lomatic  art.  As  Captain  Poindexter  looked  upon  the 
fringed  hazel  eyes,  the  drooping  raven  mustache,  the 
clustering  ringlets,  and  the  Byronic  full  throat  and  turned- 
down  collar  of  his  friend,  a  smile  of  exhausted  humorous 
tolerance  and  affectionate  impatience  curved  his  lips. 
"  Well,  you  are  a  fool,  are  n't  you  ? "  he  apostrophized  it 
half  audibly. 

He  was  standing  before  the  picture  as  she  entered. 
Even  in  the  trying  contiguity  of  that  peerless  work  he 
would  have  been  called  a  fine-looking  man.  As  he  ad 
vanced  to  greet  her,  it  was  evident  that  his  military  title 
was  not  one  of  the  mere  fanciful  sobriquets  of  the  local 
ity.  In  his  erect  figure  and  the  disciplined  composure  of 
limb  and  attitude  there  were  still  traces  of  the  refined 
academic  rigors  of  West  Point.  The  pliant  adaptability 
of  Western  civilization,  which  enabled  him,  three  years 
before,  to  leave  the  army  and  transfer  his  executive 
ability  to  the  more  profitable  profession  of  the  law,  had 
loosed  sash  and  shoulder  -  strap,  but  had  not  entirely 
removed  the  restraint  of  the  one,  nor  the  bearing  of  the 
other. 

"  Spencer  is  in  Sacramento,"  began  Mrs.  Tucker  in 
languid  explanation,  after  the  first  greetings  were  over. 

"  I  knew  he  was  not  here,"  replied  Captain  Poindexter 
gently,  as  he  drew  the  proffered  chair  towards  her,  "  but 
this  is  business  that  concerns  you  both."  He  stopped 
and  glanced  upwards  at  the  picture.  "I  suppose  you 
know  nothing  of  his  business  ?  Of  course  not,"  he  added 


274  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

reassuringly,  "  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  certainly." 
He  said  this  so  kindly,  and  yet  so  positively,  as  if  to 
promptly  dispose  of  that  question  before  going  further, 
that  she  assented  mechanically.  "  Well,  then,  he  's  taken 
some  big  risks  in  the  way  of  business,  and  — well,  things 
have  gone  bad  with  him,  you  know.  Very  bad !  Really, 
they  could  n't  be  worse !  Of  course  it  was  dreadfully 
rash  and  all  that,"  he  went  on,  as  if  commenting  upon 
the  amusing  waywardness  of  a  child  ;  "  but  the  result  is 
the  usual  smash  -  up  of  everything,  money,  credit,  and 
all !  "  He  laughed  and  added,  "  Yes,  he  's  got  cut  off  — 
mules  and  baggage  regularly  routed  and  dispersed !  I  'm 
in  earnest."  He  raised  his  eyebrows  and  frowned  slightly, 
as  if  to  deprecate  any  corresponding  hilarity  on  the  part 
of  Mrs.  Tucker,  or  any  attempt  to  make  too  light  of  the 
subject,  and  then  rising,  placed  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  beamed  half  -  humorously  upon  her  from  beneath 
her  husband's  picture,  and  repeated,  "  That 's  so." 

Mrs.  Tucker  instinctively  knew  that  he  spoke  the  truth, 
and  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  convey  it  in  any 
other  than  his  natural  manner ;  but  between  the  shock 
and  the  singular  influence  of  that  manner  she  could  at 
first  only  say,  "  You  don't  mean  it !  "  fully  conscious  of 
the  utter  inanity  of  the  remark,  and  that  it  seemed 
scarcely  less  cold-blooded  than  his  own. 

Poindexter,  still  smiling,  nodded. 

She  arose  with  an  effort.  She  had  recovered  from  the 
first  shock,  and  pride  lent  her  a  determined  calmness  that 
more  than  equaled  Poindexter's  easy  philosophy. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  At  sea,  and  I  hope  by  this  time  where  he  cannot  be 
found  or  followed." 

Was  her  momentary  glimpse  of  the  outgoing  ship  a 
coincidence  or  only  a  vision  ?  She  was  confused  and 
giddy,  but,  mastering  her  weakness,  she  managed  to  con 
tinue  in  a  lower  voice  : 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  275 

"You  have  no  message  for  me  from  him?  He  told 
you  nothing  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  absolutely  nothing,"  replied  Poindexter. 
"  It  was  as  much  as  he  could  do,  I  reckon,  to  get  fairly 
away  before  the  crash  came." 

"  Then  you  did  not  see  him  go  ? " 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Poindexter.  "  I  'd  hardly  have  man 
aged  things  in  this  way."  He  checked  himself  and 
added,  with  a  forgiving  smile,  "  but  he  was  the  best  judge 
of  what  he  needed,  of  course." 

"  I  suppose  I  will  hear  from  him,"  she  said  quietly,  "  as 
soon  as  he  is  safe.  He  must  have  had  enough  else  to 
think  about,  poor  fellow." 

She  said  this  so  naturally  and  quietly  that  Poindexter 
was  deceived.  He  had  no  idea  that  the  collected  woman 
before  him  was  thinking  only  of  solitude  and  darkness, 
of  her  own  room,  and  madly  longing  to  be  there.  He 
said,  "Yes,  I  dare  say,"  in  quite  another  voice,  and 
glanced  at  the  picture.  But  as  she  remained  standing, 
he  continued  more  earnestly,  "  I  did  n't  come  here  to  tell 
you  what  you  might  read  in  the  newspapers  to-morrow 
morning,  and  what  everybody  might  tell  you.  Before 
that  time  I  want  you  to  do  something  to  save  a  fragment 
of  your  property  from  the  ruin  ;  do  you  understand  ?  I 
want  you  to  make  a  rally,  and  bring  off  something  in  good 
order." 

"  For  him  ? "  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  with  brightening  eyes. 

"  Well,  yes,  of  course  —  if  you  like  —  but  as  if  for  your 
self.  Do  you  know  the  Rancho  de  los  Cuervos  ?  " 

"I  do/' 

'*  It 's  almost  the  only  bit  of  real  property  your  husband 
has  n't  sold,  mortgaged,  or  pledged.  Why  it  was  exempt, 
or  whether  only  forgotten,  I  can't  say." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  why,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  with  a  slight 
return  of  color.  "  It  was  the  first  land  we  ever  bought, 


276  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

and  Spencer  always  said  it  should  be  mine  and  he  would 
build  a  new  house  on  it." 

Captain  Poindexter  smiled  and  nodded  at  the  picture. 
"  Oh,  he  did  say  that,  did  he  ?  Well,  thafs  evidence.  But 
you  see  he  never  gave  you  the  deed,  and  by  sunrise  to 
morrow  his  creditors  will  attach  it  —  unless  — 

"  Unless  "  —  repeated  Mrs.  Tucker,  with  kindling  eyes. 

"  Unless,"  continued  Captain  Poindexter,  "  they  hap 
pen  to  find  you  in  possession." 

"  I  '11  go,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker. 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  returned  Poindexter,  pleasantly. 
"  Only,  as  it 's  a  big  contract  to  take,  suppose  we  see  how 
you  can  fill  it.  It 's  forty  miles  to  Los  Cuervos,  and  you 
can't  trust  yourself  to  steamboat  or  stage-coach.  The 
steamboat  left  an  hour  ago." 

"  If  I  had  only  known  this  then  ! "  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Tucker. 

"  /knew  it,  but  you  had  company  then,"  said  Poindex 
ter,  with  ironical  gallantry,  "  and  I  would  n't  disturb  you." 
Without  saying  how  he  knew  it,  he  continued,  "  In  the 
stage-coach  you  might  be  recognised.  You  must  go  in  a 
private  conveyance  and  alone  ;  even  I  cannot  go  with 
you,  for  I  must  go  on  before  and  meet  you  there.  Can 
you  drive  forty  miles  ?  " 

Mrs.  Tucker  lifted  up  her  abstracted  pretty  lids.  "  I 
once  drove  fifty  —  at  home,"  she  returned  simply. 

"  Good  !  And  I  dare  say  you  did  it  then  for  fun.  Do 
it  now  for  something  real  and  personal,  as  we  lawyers 
say.  You  will  have  relays  and  a  plan  of  the  road.  It 's 
rough  weather  for  a  pasear,  but  all  the  better  for  that. 
You  '11  have  less  company  on  the  road." 

"  How  soon  can  I  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  I  Ve  arranged  everything  for 
you  already,"  he  continued  with  a  laugh.  "  Come  now, 
that 's  a  compliment  to  you,  is  n't  it  ?  "  He  smiled  a  mo- 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  277 

ment  in  her  steadfast,  earnest  face,  and  then  said,  more 
gravely,  "  You  '11  do.  Now  listen." 

He  then  carefully  detailed  his  plan.  There  was  so 
little  of  excitement  or  mystery  in  their  manner  that  the 
servant,  who  returned  to  light  the  gas,  never  knew  that 
the  ruin  and  bankruptcy  of  the  house  was  being  told  be 
fore  her,  or  that  its  mistress  was  planning  her  secret 
flight 

"  Good  afternoon.  I  will  see  you  to-morrow  then,"  said 
Poin dexter,  raising  his  eyes  to  hers  as  the  servant  opened 
the  door  for  him. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  repeated  Mrs.  Tucker,  quietly  an 
swering  his  look.  "  You  need  not  light  the  gas  in  my 
room,  Mary,"  she  continued  in  the  same  tone  of  voice  as 
the  door  closed  upon  him  ;  "  I  shall  lie  down  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  I  may  run  over  to  the  Robinsons  for 
the  evening." 

She  regained  her  room  composedly.  The  longing  de 
sire  to  bury  her  head  in  her  pillow  and  "  think  out "  her 
position  had  gone.  She  did  not  apostrophize  her  fate, 
she  did  not  weep ;  few  real  women  do  in  the  access  of 
calamity,  or  when  there  is  anything  else  to  be  done.  She 
felt  that  she  knew  it  all ;  she  believed  she  had  sounded 
the  profoundest  depths  of  the  disaster,  and  seemed  al 
ready  so  old  in  her  experience  that  she  almost  fancied 
she  had  been  prepared  for  it.  Perhaps  she  did  not  fully 
appreciate  it.  To  a  life  like  hers  it  was  only  an  incident, 
the  mere  turning  of  a  page  of  the  illimitable  book  of 
youth  ;  the  breaking  up  of  what  she  now  felt  had  become 
a  monotony.  In  fact,  she  was  not  quite  sure  she  had  ever 
been  satisfied  with  their  present  success.  Had  it  brought 
her  all  she  expected  ?  She  wanted  to  say  this  to  her  hus 
band,  not  only  to  comfort  him,  poor  fellow,  but  that  they 
might  come  to  a  better  understanding  of  life  in  the  future. 
She  was  not  perhaps  different  from  other  loving  women, 


278  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

who,  believing  in  this  unattainable  goal  of  matrimony, 
have  sought  it  in  the  various  episodes  of  fortune  or  re 
verses,  in  the  bearing  of  children,  or  the  loss  of  friends. 
In  her  childless  experience  there  was  no  other  life  that 
had  taken  root  in  her  circumstances  and  might  suffer 
transplantation  ;  only  she  and  her  husband  could  lose  or 
profit  by  the  change.  The  "  perfect  "  understanding 
would  come  under  other  conditions  than  these. 

She  would  have  gone  superstitiously  to  the  window  to 
gaze  in  the  direction  of  the  vanished  ship,  but  another  in 
stinct  restrained  her.  She  would  put  aside  all  yearning 
for  him  until  she  had  done  something  to  help  him,  and 
earned  the  confidence  he  seemed  to  have  withheld.  Per 
haps  it  was  pride  —  perhaps  she  never  really  believed  his 
exodus  was  distant  or  complete. 

With  a  full  knowledge  that  to-morrow  the  various  orna 
ments  and  pretty  trifles  around  her  would  be  in  the  hands 
of  the  law,  she  gathered  only  a  few  necessaries  for  her 
flight  and  some  familiar  personal  trinkets.  I  am  con 
strained  to  say  that  this  self-abnegation  was  more  fastid 
ious  than  moral.  She  had  no  more  idea  of  the  ethics  of 
bankruptcy  than  any  other  charming  woman  ;  she  simply 
did  not  like  to  take  with  her  any  contagious  memory  of 
the  chapter  of  the  life  just  closing.  She  glanced  around 
the  home  she  was  leaving  without  a  lingering  regret ; 
there  was  no  sentiment  of  tradition  or  custom  that  might 
be  destroyed  ;  her  roots  lay  too  near  the  surface  to  suffer 
dislocation  ;  the  happiness  of  her  childless  union  had  de 
pended  upon  no  domestic  center,  nor  was  its  flame  sacred 
to  any  local  hearthstone.  It  was  without  a  sigh  that,  when 
night  had  fully  fallen,  she  slipped  unnoticed  down  the 
staircase.  At  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  she  paused, 
and  then  entered  with  the  first  guilty  feeling  of  shame  she 
had  known  that  evening.  Looking  stealthily  around,  she 
mounted  a  chair  before  her  husband's  picture,  kissed  the 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  279 

irreproachable  mustache  hurriedly,  said,  "  You  foolish 
darling,  you  !  "  and  slipped  out  again.  With  this  touch 
ing  indorsement  of  the  views  of  a  rival  philosopher,  she 
closed  the  door  softly  and  left  her  home  forever. 


II. 

The  wind  and  rain  had  cleared  the  unfrequented  suburb 
of  any  observant  lounger,  and  the  darkness,  lit  only  by  far. 
spaced,  gusty  lamps,  hid  her  hastening  figure.  She  had 
barely  crossed  the  second  street  when  she  heard  the  quick 
clatter  of  hoofs  behind  her ;  a  buggy  drove  up  to  the 
curbstone,  and  Poindexter  leaped  out.  She  entered 
quickly,  but  for  a  moment  he  still  held  the  reins  of  the  im 
patient  horse.  "  He  's  rather  fresh,"  he  said,  eying  her 
keenly  ;  "  are  you  sure  you  can  manage  him  ?  " 

"  Give  me  the  reins,"  she  said  simply. 

He  placed  them  in  the  two  firm,  well-shaped  hands 
that  reached  from  the  depths  of  the  vehicle,  and  was 
satisfied.  Yet  he  lingered. 

"  It 's  rough  work  for  a  lone  woman,"  he  said,  almost 
curtly.  "  /  can't  go  with  you,  but,  speak  frankly,  is  there 
any  man  you  know  whom  you  can  trust  well  enough  to 
take  ?  It 's  not  too  late  yet ;  think  a  moment !  " 

He  paused  over  the  buttoning  of  the  leather  apron  of 
the  vehicle. 

"  No,  there  is  none,"  answered  the  voice  from  the  in 
terior  ;  "  and  it 's  better  so.  Is  all  ready  ?  " 

"  One  moment  more."  He  had  recovered  his  half  ban 
tering  manner.  "  You  have  a  friend  and  countryman  al 
ready  with  you,  do  you  know  ?  Your  horse  is  Blue  Grass. 
Good-night." 

With  these  words  ringing  in  her  ears  she  began  her 
journey.  The  horse,  as  if  eager  to  maintain  the  reputa- 


280  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

tion  which  his  native  district  had  given  his  race,  as  well 
as  the  race  of  the  pretty  woman  behind  him,  leaped  im 
patiently  forward.  But  pulled  together  by  the  fine  and 
firm  fingers  that  seemed  to  guide  rather  than  check  his 
exuberance,  he  presently  struck  into  the  long,  swinging 
pace  of  his  kind,  and  kept  it  throughout  without  "  break  " 
or  acceleration.  Over  the  paved  streets  the  light  buggy 
rattled,  and  the  slender  shafts  danced  around  his  smooth 
barrel,  but  when  they  touched  the  level  high  road,  horse 
and  vehicle  slipped  forward  through  the  night,  a  swift  and 
noiseless  phantom.  Mrs.  Tucker  could  see  his  graceful 
back  dimly  rising  and  falling  before  her  with  tireless 
rhythm,  and  could  feel  the  intelligent  pressure  of  his 
mouth  until  it  seemed  the  responsive  grasp  of  a  power 
ful  but  kindly  hand.  The  faint  glow  of  conquest  came  to 
her  cold  cheek ;  the  slight  stirrings  of  pride  moved  her 
preoccupied  heart.  A  soft  light  filled  her  hazel  eyes. 
A  desolate  woman,  bereft  of  husband  and  home,  and  fly 
ing  through  storm  and  night,  she  knew  not  where,  she  still 
leaned  forward  towards  her  horse.  "Was  he  Blue  Grass, 
then,  dear  old  boy  ?  "  she  gently  cooed  at  him  in  the  dark 
ness.  He  evidently  was,  and  responded  by  blowing  her 
an  ostentatious  equine  kiss.  "  And  he  would  be  good  to 
his  own  forsaken  Belle,"  she  murmured  caressingly,  "and 
would  n't  let  any  one  harm  her  ? "  But  here,  overcome 
by  the  lazy  witchery  of  her  voice,  he  shook  his  head^  so 
violently  that  Mrs.  Tucker,  after  the  fashion  of  her  sex, 
had  the  double  satisfaction  of  demurely  restraining  the 
passion  she  had  evoked. 

To  avoid  the  more  traveled  thoroughfare,  while  the 
evening  was  still  early,  it  had  been  arranged  that  she 
should  at  first  take  a  less  direct  but  less  frequented  road. 
This  was  a  famous  pleasure-drive  from  San  Francisco,  a 
graveled  and  sanded  stretch  of  eight  miles  to  the  sea,  and 
an  ultimate  "  cocktail,"  in  a  "  stately  pleasure-dome  de- 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  281 

creed  "  among  the  surf  and  rocks  of  the  Pacific  shore. 
It  was  deserted  now,  and  left  to  the  unobstructed  sweep 
of  the  wind  and  rain.  Mrs.  Tucker  would  not  have 
chosen  this  road.  With  the  instinctive  jealousy  of  a 
bucolic  inland  race  born  by  great  rivers,  she  did  not  like 
the  sea  ;  and  again,  the  dim  and  dreary  waste  tended  to 
recall  the  vision  connected  with  her  husband's  flight,  upon 
which  she  had  resolutely  shut  her  eyes.  But  when  she 
had  reached  it  the  road  suddenly  turned,  following  the 
trend  of  the  beach,  and  she  was  exposed  to  the  full  power 
of  its  dread  fascinations.  The  combined  roar  of  sea 
and  shore  was  in  her  ears.  As  the  direct  force  of  the  gale 
had  compelled  her  to  furl  the  protecting  hood  of  the 
buggy  to  keep  the  light  vehicle  from  oversetting  or  drift 
ing  to  leeward,  she  could  no  longer  shut  out  the  heaving 
chaos  on  the  right,  from  which  the  pallid  ghosts  of  dead 
and  dying  breakers  dimly  rose  and  sank  as  if  in  awful 
salutation.  At  times  through  the  darkness  a  white  sheet 
appeared  spread  before  the  path  and  beneath  the  wheels 
of  the  buggy,  which,  when  withdrawn  with  a  reluctant  hiss, 
seemed  striving  to  drag  the  exhausted  beach  seaward  with 
it.  But  the  blind  terror  of  her  horse,  who  swerved  at 
every  sweep  of  the  surge,  shamed  her  own  half  supersti 
tious  fears,  and  with  the  effort  to  control  his  alarm  she 
regained  her  own  self-possession,  albeit  with  eyelashes  wet 
not  altogether  with  the  salt  spray  from  the  sea.  This  was 
followed  by  a  reaction,  perhaps  stimulated  by  her  victory 
over  the  beaten  animal,  when  for  a  time,  she  knew  not 
how  long,  she  felt  only  a  mad  sense  of  freedom  and 
power,  oblivious  of  even  her  sorrows,  her  lost  home  and 
husband,  and  with  intense  feminine  consciousness  she 
longed  to  be  a  man.  She  was  scarcely  aware  that  the 
track  turned  again  inland  until  the  beat  of  the  horse's 
hoofs  on  the  firm  ground  and  an  acceleration  of  speed 
showed  her  she  had  left  the  beach  and  the  mysterious 


282  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

sea  behind  her,  and  she  remembered  that  she  was  near 
the  end  of  the  first  stage  of  her  journey.  Half  an  hour 
later  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  roadside  inn  where  she 
was  to  change  horses  rose  out  of  the  darkness. 

Happily  for  her,  the  hostler  considered  the  horse,  who 
had  a  local  reputation,  of  more  importance  than  the 
unknown  muffled  figure  in  the  shadow  of  the  unfurled 
hood,  and  confined  his  attention  to  the  animal.  After  a 
careful  examination  of  his  feet  and  a  few  comments 
addressed  solely  to  the  superior  creation,  he  led  him  away. 
Mrs.  Tucker  would  have  liked  to  part  more  affectionately 
from  her  four-footed  compatriot,  and  felt  a  sudden  sense 
of  loneliness  at  the  loss  of  her  new  friend,  but  a  recollec 
tion  of  certain  cautions  of  Captain  Poindexter's  kept  her 
mute.  Nevertheless,  the  hostler's  ostentatious  adjuration 
of  "  Now  then,  are  n't  you  going  to  bring  out  that  mus 
tang  for  the  Senora  ?  "  puzzled  her.  It  was  not  until  the 
fresh  horse  was  put  to,  and  she  had  flung  a  piece  of  gold 
into  the  attendant's  hand,  that  the  "  Gracias "  of  his 
unmistakable  Saxon  speech  revealed  to  her  the  reason  of 
the  lawyer's  caution.  Poindexter  had  evidently  repre 
sented  her  to  these  people  as  a  native  Californian  who 
did  not  speak  English.  In  her  inconsistency  her  blood 
took  fire  at  this  first  suggestion  of  deceit,  and  burned  in 
her  face.  Why  should  he  try  to  pass  her  off  as  anybody 
else  ?  Why  should  she  not  use  her  own,  her  husband's 
name  ?  She  stopped  and  bit  her  lip. 

It  was  but  the  beginning  of  an  uneasy  train  of  thought. 
She  suddenly  found  herself  thinking  of  her  visitor, 
Calhoun  Weaver,  and  not  pleasantly.  He  would  hear  of 
their  ruin  to-morrow,  perhaps  of  her  own  flight.  He 
would  remember  his  visit,  and  what  would  he  think  of 
her  deceitful  frivolity?  Would  he  believe  that  she  was 
then  ignorant  of  the  failure  ?  It  was  her  first  sense  of 
any  accountability  to  others  than  herself,  but  even  then 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  283 

it  was  rather  owing  to  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  what 
her  husband  must  feel  if  he  were  subjected  to  the  criti 
cisms  of  men  like  Calhoun.  She  wondered  if  others 
knew  that  he  had  kept  her  in  ignorance  of  his  flight. 
Did  Poindexter  know  it,  or  had  he  only  entrapped  her 
into  the  admission  ?  Why  had  she  not  been  clever  enough 
to  make  him  think  that  she  knew  it  already  ?  For  the 
moment  she  hated  Poindexter  for  sharing  that  secret. 
Yet  this  was  again  followed  by  a  new  impatience  of  her 
husband's  want  of  insight  into  her  ability  to  help  him. 
Of  course  the  poor  fellow  could  not  bear  to  worry  her, 
could  not  bear  to  face  such  men  as  Calhoun,  or  even 
Poindexter  (she  added  exultingly  to  herself),  but  he 
might  have  sent  her  a  line  as  he  fled,  only  to  prepare  her 
to  meet  and  combat  the  shame  alone.  It  did  not  occur 
to  her  unsophisticated  singleness  of  nature  that  she  was 
accepting  as  an  error  of  feeling  what  the  world  would 
call  cowardly  selfishness. 

At  midnight  the  storm  lulled  and  a  few  stars  trembled 
through  the  rent  clouds.  Her  eyes  had  become  accus 
tomed  to  the  darkness,  and  her  country  instincts,  a  little 
overlaid  by  the  urban  experiences  of  the  last  few  years, 
came  again  to  the  surface.  She  felt  the  fresh,  cool  radia 
tion  from  outlying,  upturned  fields,  the  faint,  sad  odors 
from  dim  stretches  of  pricking  grain  and  quickening  leaf, 
and  wondered  if  at  Los  Cuervos  it  might  be  possible  to 
reproduce  the  peculiar  verdure  of  her  native  district. 
She  beguiled  her  fancy  by  an  ambitious  plan  of  retrieving 
their  fortunes  by  farming ;  her  comfortable  tastes  had 
lately  rebelled  against  the  homeless  mechanical  cultiva 
tion  of  these  desolate  but  teeming  Californian  acres,  and 
for  a  moment  indulged  in  a  vision  of  a  vine-clad  cottage 
home  that  in  any  other  woman  would  have  been  senti 
mental.  Her  cramped  limbs  aching,  she  took  advantage 
of  the  security  of  the  darkness  and  the  familiar  conti- 


284  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

guity  of  the  fields  to  get  down  from  the  vehicle,  gather  her 
skirts  together,  and  run  at  the  head  of  the  mustang,  until 
her  chill  blood  was  thawed,  night  drawing  a  modest  veil 
over  this  charming  revelation  of  the  nymph  and  woman. 
But  the  sudden  shadow  of  a  coyote  checked  the  scouring 
feet  of  this  swift  Camilla,  and  sent  her  back  precipitately 
to  the  buggy.  Nevertheless,  she  was  refreshed  and  able 
to  pursue  her  journey,  until  the  cold  gray  of  early  morn 
ing  found  her  at  the  end  of  her  second  stage. 

Her  route  was  changed  again  from  the  main  highway, 
rendered  dangerous  by  the  approach  of  day  and  the  con 
tiguity  of  the  neighboring  rancheros.  The  road  was  rough 
and  hilly,  her  new  horse  and  vehicle  in  keeping  with  the 
rudeness  of  the  route  —  by  far  the  most  difficult  of  her 
whole  journey.  The  rare  wagon  tracks  that  indicated  her 
road  were  often  scarcely  discernible ;  at  times  they  led 
her  through  openings  in  the  half-cleared  woods,  skirted 
suspicious  morasses,  painfully  climbed  the  smooth,  dome 
like  hills,  or  wound  along  perilous  slopes  at  a  dangerous 
angle.  Twice  she  had  to  alight  and  cling  to  the  sliding 
wheels  on  one  of  those  treacherous  inclines,  or  drag  them 
from  impending  ruts  or  immovable  mire.  In  the  growing 
light  she  could  distinguish  the  distant,  low-lying  marshes 
eaten  by  encroaching  sloughs  and  insidious  channels,  and 
beyond  them  the  faint  gray  waste  of  the  Lower  Bay.  A 
darker  peninsula  in  the  marsh  she  knew  to  be  the 
extreme  boundary  of  her  future  home :  the  Rancho  de 
los  Cuervos.  In  another  hour  she  began  to  descend  to 
the  plain,  and  once  more  to  approach  the  main  road, 
which  now  ran  nearly  parallel  with  her  track.  She 
scanned  it  cautiously  for  any  early  traveler ;  it  stretched 
north  and  south  in  apparent  unending  solitude.  She 
struck  into  it  boldly,  and  urged  her  horse  to  the  top  of 
his  speed,  until  she  reached  the  cross-road  that  led  to  the 
rancho.  But  here  she  paused  and  allowed  the  reins  to 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  285 

drop  idly  on  the  mustang's  back.  A  singular  and  unac 
countable  irresolution  seized  her.  The  difficulties  of  her 
journey  were  over;  the  rancho  lay  scarcely  two  miles 
away ;  she  had  achieved  the  most  important  part  of  her 
task  in  the  appointed  time ;  but  she  hesitated.  What  had 
she  come  for  ?  She  tried  to  recall  Poindexter's  words, 
even  her  own  enthusiasm,  but  in  vain.  She  was  going 
to  take  possession  of  her  husband's  property,  she  knew, 
that  was  all.  But  the  means  she  had  taken  seemed  now 
so  exaggerated  and  mysterious  for  that  simple  end,  that 
she  began  to  dread  an  impending  something,  or  some 
vague  danger  she  had  not  considered,  that  she  was  rush 
ing  blindly  to  meet.  Full  of  this  strange  feeling,  she 
almost  mechanically  stopped  her  horse  as  she  entered  the 
cross-road. 

From  this  momentary  hesitation  a  singular  sound 
aroused  her.  It  seemed  at  first  like  the  swift  hurrying 
by  of  some  viewless  courier  of  the  air,  the  vague  alarm  of 
some  invisible  flying  Tierald,  or  like  the  inarticulate  cry 
that  precedes  a  storm.  It  seemed  to  rise  and  fall  around 
her  as  if  with  some  changing  urgency  of  purpose.  Rais 
ing  her  eyes  she  suddenly  recognized  the  two  far-stretching 
lines  of  telegraph  wire  above  her  head,  and  knew  the 
aeolian  cry  of  the  morning  wind  along  its  vibrating  chords. 
But  it  brought  another  and  more  practical  fear  to  her  ac 
tive  brain.  Perhaps  even  now  the  telegraph  might  be  an 
ticipating  her  !  Had  Poindexter  thought  of  that  ?  She 
hesitated  no  longer,  but  laying  the  whip  on  the  back  of 
her  jaded  mustang,  again  hurried  forward. 

As  the  level  horizon  grew  more  distinct,  her  attention 
was  attracted  by  the  white  sail  of  a  small  boat  lazily 
threading  the  sinuous  channel  of  the  slough.  It  might  be 
Poindexter  arriving  by  the  more  direct  route  from  the 
steamboat  that  occasionally  laid  off  the  ancient  embarca- 
dero  of  the  Los  Cuervos  Rancho.  But  even  while  watch- 


286  A  Bhie  Grass  Penelope. 

ing  it  her  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs 
behind  her.  She  turned  quickly  and  saw  she  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  horseman.  But  her  momentary  alarm  was 
succeeded  by  a  feeling  of  relief  as  she  recognized  the 
erect  figure  and  square  shoulders  of  Poindexter.  Yet  she 
could  not  help  thinking  that  he  looked  more  like  a  mili 
tant  scout,  and  less  like  a  cautious  legal  adviser,  than 
ever. 

With  unaffected  womanliness  she  rearranged  her  slightly 
disordered  hair  as  he  drew  up  beside  her.  "  I  thought 
you  were  in  yonder  boat,"  she  said. 

"  Not  I,"  he  laughed  ;  "  I  distanced  you  by  the  high 
road  two  hours,  and  have  been  reconnoitering,  until  I  saw 
you  hesitate  at  the  cross-roads." 

"  But  who  is  in  the  boat  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Tucker,  partly 
to  hide  her  embarrassment. 

"Only  some  early  Chinese  market  gardener,  I  daresay. 
But  you  are  safe  now.  You  are  on  your  own  land.  You 
passed  the  boundary  monument  of  the  rancho  five  min 
utes  ago.  Look  !  All  you  see  before  you  is  yours  from 
the  embarcadero  to  yonder  Coast  Range." 

The  tone  of  half  raillery  did  not,  however,  cheer  Mrs. 
Tucker.  She  shuddered  slightly  and  cast  her  eyes  over 
the  monotonous  sea  of  tule  and  meadow. 

"  It  does  n't  look  pretty,  perhaps,"  continued  Poin 
dexter,  "  but  it 's  the  richest  land  in  the  State,  and  the 
embarcadero  will  some  day  be  a  town.  I  suppose  you  '11 
call  it  Blue  Grassville.  But  you  seem  tired  !  "  he  said, 
suddenly  dropping  his  voice  to  a  tone  of  half  humorous 
sympathy. 

Mrs.  Tucker  managed  to  get  rid  of  an  impending  tear 
under  the  pretense  of  clearing  her  eyes.  "  Are  we  nearly 
there  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nearly.  You  know,"  he  added,  with  the  same  half 
mischievous,  half  sympathizing  gayety,  "  it 's  not  exactly 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  287 

a  palace  you  're  coming  to,  —  hardly.  It 's  the  old  casa 
that  has  been  deserted  for  years,  but  I  thought  it  better 
you  should  go  into  possession  there  than  take  up  your 
abode  at  the  shanty  where  your  husband's  farm-hands 
are.  No  one  will  know  when  you  take  possession  of  the 
casa,  while  the  very  hour  of  your  arrival  at  the  shanty 
would  be  known ;  and  if  they  should  make  any 
trouble  "  — 

"  If  they  should  make  any  trouble  ? "  repeated  Mrs. 
Tucker,  lifting  her  frank,  inquiring  eyes  to  Poindexter. 

His  horse  suddenly  rearing  from  an  apparently  acci 
dental  prick  of  the  spur,  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before 
he  was  able  to  explain.  "  I  mean  if  this  ever  comes  up 
as  a  matter  of  evidence,  you  know.  But  here  we  are  !  " 

What  had  seemed  to  be  an  overgrown  mound  rising 
like  an  island  out  of  the  dead  level  of  the  grassy  sea  now 
resolved  itself  into  a  collection  of  adobe  walls,  eaten  and 
incrusted  with  shrubs  and  vines,  that  bore  some  resem 
blance  to  the  usual  uninhabited -looking  exterior  of  a 
Spanish-American  dwelling.  Apertures  that  might  have 
been  lance-shaped  windows  or  only  cracks  and  fissures 
in  the  walls  were  choked  up  with  weeds  and  grass,  and 
gave  no  passing  glimpse  of  the  interior.  Entering  a  ruin 
ous  corral  they  came  to  a  second  entrance,  which  proved 
to  be  the  patio  or  courtyard.  The  deserted  wooden  cor 
ridor,  with  beams,  rafters,  and  floors  whitened  by  the 
sun  and  wind,  contained  a  few  withered  leaves,  dryly  rot 
ting  skins,  and  thongs  of  leather,  as  if  undisturbed  by 
human  care.  But  among  these  scattered  de'bris  of  former 
life  and  habitation  there  was  no  noisome  or  unclean  sug 
gestion  of  decay.  A  faint  spiced  odor  of  desiccation 
filled  the  bare  walls.  There  was  no  slime  on  stone  or 
sun-dried  brick.  In  place  of  fungus  or  discolored  mois 
ture  the  dust  of  efflorescence  whitened  in  the  obscured 
corners.  The  elements  had  picked  clean  the  bones  of 


288  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

the  old  and  crumbling  tenement  ere  they  should  finally 
absorb  it. 

A  withered  Q\&peon  woman,  who  in  dress,  complexion, 
and  fibrous  hair  might  have  been  an  animated  fragment 
of  the  debris,  rustled  out  of  a  low  vaulted  passage  and 
welcomed  them  with  a  feeble  crepitation.  Following  her 
into  the  dim  interior,  Mrs.  Tucker  was  surprised  to  find 
some  slight  attempt  at  comfort  and  even  adornment  in  the 
two  or  three  habitable  apartments.  They  were  scrupu 
lously  clean  and  dry,  two  qualities  which  in  her  feminine 
eyes  atoned  for  poverty  of  material. 

"  I  could  not  send  anything  from  San  Bruno,  the  near 
est  village,  without  attracting  attention,"  explained  Poin- 
dexter  ;  "  but  if  you  can  manage  to  picnic  here  for  a  day 
longer,  I  '11  get  one  of  our  Chinese  friends  here,"  he 
pointed  to  the  slough,  "  to  bring  over,  for  his  return  cargo 
from  across  the  bay,  any  necessaries  you  may  want. 
There  is  no  danger  of  his  betraying  you,"  he  added,  with 
an  ironical  smile  ;  "  Chinamen  and  Indians  are,  by  an 
ingenious  provision  of  the  statute  of  California,  incapable 
of  giving  evidence  against  a  white  person.  You  can 
trust  your  handmaiden  perfectly  —  even  if  she  can't  trust 
you.  That  is  your  sacred  privilege  under  the  constitu 
tion.  And  now,  as  I  expect  to  catch  the  up  boat  ten 
miles  from  hence.  I  must  say  '  good-by  '  until  to-morrow 
night.  I  hope  to  bring  you  then  some  more  definite 
plans  for  the  future.  The  worst  is  over."  He  held  her 
hand  for  a  moment,  and  with  a  graver  voice  continued, 
"You  have  done  it  very  well  —  do  you  know -^  very 
well !  " 

In  the  slight  embarrassment  produced  by  his  sudden 
change  of  manner  she  felt  that  her  thanks  seemed  awk 
ward  and  restrained.  "  Don't  thank  me,"  he  laughed, 
with  a  prompt  return  of  his  former  levity ;  "  that 's  my 
trade.  I  only  advised.  You  have  saved  yourself  like  a 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  289 

plucky  woman  —  shall  I  say  like  Blue  Grass  ?  Good-by  !  " 
He  mounted  his  horse,  but,  as  if  struck  by  an  after-thought, 
wheeled  and  drew  up  by  her  side  again.  "  If  I  were  you 
I  would  n't  see  many  strangers  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
listen  to  as  little  news  as  a  woman  possibly  can."  He 
laughed  again,  waved  her  a  half  gallant,  half  military  sa 
lute,  and  was  gone.  The  question  she  had  been  trying 
to  frame,  regarding  the  probability  of  communication  with 
her  husband,  remained  unasked.  At  least  she  had  saved 
her  pride  before  him. 

Addressing  herself  to  the  care  of  her  narrow  house 
hold,  she  mechanically  put  away  the  few  things  she  had 
brought  with  her,  and  began  to  readjust  the  scant  furni 
ture.  She  was  a  little  discomposed  at  first  at  the  absence 
of  bolts,  locks,  and  even  window-fastenings  until  assured, 
by  Concha's  evident  inability  to  comprehend  her  concern, 
that  they  were  quite  unknown  at  Los  Cuervos.  Her  slight 
knowledge  of  Spanish  was  barely  sufficient  to  make  her 
wants  known,  so  that  the  relief  of  conversation  with  her 
only  companion  was  debarred  her,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  content  herself  with  the  sapless,  crackling  smiles  and 
withered  genuflexions  that  the  old  woman  dropped  like 
dead  leaves  in  her  path.  It  was  staring  noon  when,  the 
house  singing  like  an  empty  shell  in  the  monotonous 
wind,  she  felt  she  could  stand  the  solitude  no  longer,  and, 
crossing  the  glaring  patio  and  whistling  corridor,  made 
her  way  to  the  open  gateway. 

But  the  view  without  seemed  to  intensify  her  desolation. 
The  broad  expanse  of  the  shadowless  plain  reached  ap 
parently  to  the  Coast  Range,  trackless  and  unbroken  save 
by  one  or  two  clusters  of  dwarfed  oaks,  which  at  that 
distance  were  but  mossy  excrescences  on  the  surface, 
barely  raised  above  the  dead  level.  On  the  other  side 
the  marsh  took  up  the  monotony  and  carried  it,  scarcely 
interrupted  by  undefined  water-courses,  to  the  faintly 


290  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

marked-out  horizon  line  of  the  remote  bay.  Scattered 
and  apparently  motionless  black  spots  on  the  meadows 
that  gave  a  dreary  significance  to  the  title  of  "  the  Crows  " 
which  the  rancho  bore,  and  sudden  gray  clouds  of  sand 
pipers  on  the  marshes,  that  rose  and  vanished  down  the 
wind,  were  the  only  signs  of  life.  Even  the  white  sail 
of  the  early  morning  was  gone. 

She  stood  there  until  the  aching  of  her  straining  eyes 
and  the  stiffening  of  her  limbs  in  the  cold  wind  compelled 
her  to  seek  the  sheltered  warmth  of  the  courtyard.  Here 
she  endeavored  to  make  friends  with  a  bright-eyed  lizard, 
who  was  sunning  himself  in  the  corridor ;  a  graceful  little 
creature  in  blue  and  gold,  from  whom  she  felt  at  other 
times  she  might  have  fled,  but  whose  beauty  and  harm- 
lessness  solitude  had  made  known  to  her.  With  mis 
placed  kindness  she  tempted  it  with  bread-crumbs,  with 
no  other  effect  than  to  stiffen  it  into  stony  astonishment. 
She  wondered  if  she  should  become  like  the  prisoners 
she  had  read  of  in  books,  who  poured  out  their  solitary 
affections  on  noisome  creatures,  and  she  regretted  even 
the  mustang,  which  with  the  buggy  had  disappeared  un 
der  the  charge  of  some,  unknown  retainer  on  her  arrival. 
Was  she  not  a  prisoner  ?  The  shutterless  windows,  yawn 
ing  doors,  and  open  gate  refuted  the  suggestion,  but  the 
encompassing  solitude  and  trackless  waste  still  held  her 
captive.  Poindexter  had  told  her  it  was  four  miles  to 
the  shanty ;  she  might  walk  there.  Why  had  she  given 
her  word  that  she  would  remain  at  the  rancho  until  he 
returned  ? 

The  long  day  crept  monotonously  away,  and  she  wel 
comed  the  night  which  shut  out  the  dreary  prospect. 
But  it  brought  no  cessation  of  the  harassing  wind  with 
out,  nor  surcease  of  the  nervous  irritation  its  perpetual 
and  even  activity  wrought  upon  her.  It  haunted  her 
pillow  even  in  her  exhausted  sleep,  and  seemed  to  im- 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  291 

patiently  beckon  her  to  rise  and  follow  it.  It  brought 
her  feverish  dreams  of  her  husband,  footsore  and  weary, 
staggering  forward  under  its  pitiless  lash  and  clamorous 
outcry ;  she  would  have  gone  to  his  assistance,  but  when 
she  reached  his  side  and  held  out  her  arms  to  him  it 
hurried  her  past  with  merciless  power,  and,  bearing  her 
away,  left  him  hopelessly  behind.  It  was  broad  day 
when  she  awoke.  The  usual  night  showers  of  the  waning 
rainy  season  had  left  no  trace  in  sky  or  meadow ;  the 
fervid  morning  sun  had  already  dried  the  patio  ;  only  the 
restless,  harrying  wind  remained. 

Mrs.  Tucker  arose  with  a  resolve.  She  had  learned 
from  Concha  on  the  previous  evening  that  a  part  of  the 
shanty  was  used  as  a  tienda  or  shop  for  the  laborers  and 
rancheros.  Under  the  necessity  of  purchasing  some  arti 
cles,  she  would  go  there  and  for  a  moment  mingle  with 
those  people,  who  would  not  recognize  her.  Even  if 
they  did,  her  instinct  told  her  it  would  be  less  to  be 
feared  than  the  hopeless  uncertainty  of  another  day.  As 
she  left  the  house  the  wind  seemed  to  seize  her  as  in  her 
dream,  and  hurry  her  along  with  it,  until  in  a  few  mo 
ments  the  walls  of  the  low  casa  sank  into  the  earth  again 
and  she  was  alone,  but  for  the  breeze  on  the  solitary 
plain.  The  level  distance  glittered  in  the  sharp  light,  a 
few  crows  with  slant  wings  dipped  and  ran  down  the 
wind  before  her,  and  a  passing  gleam  on  the  marsh  was 
explained  by  the  far-off  cry  of  a  curlew. 

She  had  walked  for  an  hour,  upheld  by  the  stimulus  of 
light  and  morning  air,  when  the  cluster  of  scrub  oaks, 
which  was  her  destination,  opened  enough  to  show  two 
rambling  sheds,  before  one  of  which  was  a  wooden  plat 
form  containing  a  few  barrels  and  bones.  As  she  ap 
proached  nearer,  she  could  see  that  one  or  two  horses 
were  tethered  under  the  trees,  that  their  riders  were 
lounging  by  a  horse-trough,  and  that  over  an  open  door 


2 92  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

the  word  Tienda  was  rudely  painted  on  a  board,  and  as 
rudely  illustrated  by  the  wares  displayed  at  door  and 
window.  Accustomed  as  she  was  to  the  poverty  of  fron 
tier  architecture,  even  the  crumbling  walls  of  the  old  ha- 
rienda  she  had  just  left  seemed  picturesque  to  the  rigid 
angles  of  the  thin,  blank,  unpainted  shell  before  her. 
One  of  the  loungers,  who  was  reading  a  newspaper  aloud 
as  she  advanced,  put  it  aside  and  stared  at  her ;  there 
was  an  evident  commotion  in  the  shop  as  she  stepped 
upon  the  platform,  and  when  she  entered,  with  breathless 
lips  and  beating  heart,  she  found  herself  the  object  of  a 
dozen  curious  eyes.  Her  quick  pride  resented  the  scru 
tiny  and  recalled  her  courage,  and  it  was  with  a  slight 
coldness  in  her  usual  lazy  indifference  that  she  leaned 
over  the  counter  and  asked  for  the  articles  she  wanted. 

The  request  was  followed  by  a  dead  silence.  Mrs. 
Tucker  repeated  it  with  some  hauteur. 

"  I  reckon  you  don't  seem  to  know  this  store  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  sheriff,"  said  one  of  the  loungers. 

Mrs.  Tucker  was  not  aware  of  it. 

"  Well,  1  don't  know  any  one  who  's  a  better  right  to 
know  than  Spence  Tucker's  wife,"  said  another  with  a 
coarse  laugh.  The  laugh  was  echoed  by  the  others.  Mrs. 
Tucker  saw  the  pit  into  which  she  had  deliberately  walked, 
but  did  not  flinch. 

"  Is  there  any  one  to  serve  here  ?  "  she  asked,  turning 
her  clear  eyes  full  upon  the  bystanders. 

"  You  'd  better  ask  the  sheriff.  He  was  the  last  one 
to  sarve  here.  He  sarved  an  attachment,"  replied  the 
inevitable  humorist  of  all  Californian  assemblages. 

"Is  he  here?"  asked  Mrs.  Tucker,  disregarding  the 
renewed  laughter  which  followed  this  subtle  witticism. 

The  loungers  at  the  door  made  way  for  one  of  their 
party,  who  was  half  dragged,  half  pushed  into  the  shop. 
"  Here  he  is,"  said  half  a  dozen  eager  voices,  in  the  fond 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  293 

belief  that  his  presence  might  impart  additional  humor 
to  the  situation.  He  cast  a  deprecating  glance  at  Mrs. 
Tucker  and  said,  "  It 's  so,  madam  !  This  yer  place  is 
attached  ;  but  if  there  's  anything  you  're  wanting,  why  I 
reckon,  boys,"  —  he  turned  half  appealingly  to  the  crowd, 
"  we  could  oblige  a  lady."  There  was  a  vague  sound  of 
angry  opposition  and  remonstrance  from  the  back  door 
of  the  shop,  but  the  majority,  partly  overcome  by  Mrs. 
Tucker's  beauty,  assented.  "  Only,"  continued  the  offi 
cer  explanatorily,  "  ez  these  yer  goods  are  in  the  hands  of 
the  creditors,  they  ought  to  be  represented  by  an  equiva 
lent  in  money.  If  you  're  expecting  they  should  be 
charged  "  — 

"  But  I  wish  to  pay  for  them,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Tucker, 
with  a  slight  flush  of  indignation ;  "  I  have  the  money." 

"  Oh,  1  bet  you  have  !  "  screamed  a  voice,  as,  overturn 
ing  all  opposition,  the  malcontent  at  the  back  door,  in 
the  shape  of  an  infuriated  woman,  forced  her  way  into 
the  shop.  "  I  '11  bet  you  have  the  money !  Look  at  her, 
boys!  Look  at  the  wife  of  the  thief,  with  the  stolen 
money  in  diamonds  in  her  ears  and  rings  on  her  fingers. 
She 's  got  money  if  we  've  none.  She  can  pay  for  what 
she  fancies,  if  we  have  n't  a  cent  to  redeem  the  bed 
that's  stolen  from  under  us.  Oh  yes,  buy  it  all,  Mrs. 
Spencer  Tucker !  buy  the  whole  shop,  Mrs.  Spencer 
Tucker,  do  you  hear?  And  if  you  ain't  satisfied  then, 
buy  my  clothes,  my  wedding  ring,  the  only  things  your 
husband  has  n't  stolen." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker  coldly, 
turning  towards  the  door.  But  with  a  flying  leap  across 
the  counter  her  relentless  adversary  stood  between  her 
and  retreat. 

"  You  don't  understand  !  Perhaps  you  don't  under 
stand  that  your  husband  not  only  stole  the  hard  labor  of 
these  men,  but  even  the  little  money  they  brought  here 


294  ^  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

and  trusted  to  his  thieving  hands.  Perhaps  you  don't 
know  that  he  stole  my  husband's  hard  earnings,  mort 
gaged  these  very  goods  you  want  to  buy,  and  that  he  is 
to-day  a  convicted  thief,  a  forger,  and  a  runaway  coward. 
Perhaps,  if  you  can't  understand  me,  you  can  read  the 
newspaper.  Look !  "  She  exultingly  opened  the  paper 
the  sheriff  had  been  reading  aloud,  and  pointed  to  the 
displayed  headlines.  "  Look  !  there  are  the  very  words, 
*  Forgery,  Swindling,  Embezzlement ! '  Do  you  see  ?  And 
perhaps  you  can't  understand  this.  Look !  '  Shameful 
Flight.  Abandons  his  Wife.  Runs  off  with  a  Notori 
ous  '  "  — 

"  Easy,  old  gal,  easy  now.  D — n  it !  Will  you  dry 
up  ?  I  say.  Stop  /  " 

It  was  too  late  !  The  sheriff  had  dashed  the  paper  from 
the  woman's  hand,  but  not  until  Mrs.  Tucker  had  read  a 
single  line,  a  line  such  as  she  had  sometimes  turned  from 
with  weary  scorn  in  her  careless  perusal  of  the  daily 
shameful  chronicle  of  domestic  infelicity.  Then  she  had 
coldly  wondered  if  there  could  be  any  such  men  and 
women.  And  now!  The  crowd  fell  back  before  her; 
even  the  virago  was  silenced  as  she  looked  at  her  face. 
The  humorist's  face  was  as  white,  but  not  as  immobile, 
as  he  gasped,  "  Christ !  if  I  don't  believe  she  knew 
nothin'  of  it !  " 

For  a  moment  the  full  force  of  such  a  supposition, 
with  all  its  poignancy,  its  dramatic  intensity,  and  its 
pathos,  possessed  the  crowd.  In  the  momentary  clair 
voyance  of  enthusiasm  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  truth, 
and  by  one  of  the  strange  reactions  of  human  passion 
they  only  waited  for  a  word  of  appeal  or  explanation  from 
her  lips  to  throw  themselves  at  her  feet.  Had  she  simply 
told  her  story  they  would  have  believed  her;  had  she 
cried,  fainted,  or  gone  into  hysterics,  they  would  have 
pitied  her.  She  did  neither.  Perhaps  she  thought  of 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  295 

neither,  or  indeed  of  anything  that  was  then  before  her 
eyes.  She  walked  erect  to  the  door  and  turned  upon  the 
threshold.  "  I  mean  what  I  say,"  she  said  calmly.  "  I 
don't  understand  you.  But  whatever  just  claims  you 
have  upon  my  husband  will  be  paid  by  me,  or  by  his  law 
yer,  Captain  Poindexter." 

She  had  lost  the  sympathy  but  not  the  respect  of  her 
hearers.  They  made  way  for  her  with  sullen  deference 
as  she  passed  out  on  the  platform.  But  her  adversary, 
profiting  by  the  last  opportunity,  burst  into  an  ironical 
laugh. 

"  Captain  Poindexter,  is  it  ?  Well,  perhaps  he  's  safe 
to  pay  your  bill ;  but  as  for  your  husband's  "  — 

"  That 's  another  matter,"  interrupted  a  familiar  voice 
with  the  greatest  cheerfulness ;  "  that 's  what  you  were 
going  to  say,  was  n't  it?  Ha!  ha!  Well,  Mrs.  Patter 
son,"  continued  Poindexter,  stepping  from  his  buggy, 
"  you  never  spoke  a  truer  word  in  your  life.  —  One  mo 
ment,  Mrs.  Tucker.  Let  me  send  you  back  in  the  buggy. 
Don't  mind  me.  I  can  get  a  fresh  horse  of  the  sheriff. 
I  'm  quite  at  home  here."  Then,  turning  to  one  of  the 
bystanders,  "  I  say,  Patterson,  step  a  few  paces  this  way, 
will  you  ?  A  little  further  from  your  wife,  please.  That 
will  do.  You've  got  a  claim  of  five  thousand  dollars 
against  the  property,  have  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes. " 

"  Well,  that  woman  just  driving  away  is  your  one  soli 
tary  chance  of  getting  a  cent  of  it.  If  your  wife  insults 
her  again,  that  chance  is  gone.  And  if  you  do  "  — 

"Well?" 

"  As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in  Israel  and  a  Supreme 
Court  of  the  State  of  California,  I  '11  kill  you  in  your 
tracks  !  .  .  .  .  Stay  ! " 

Patterson  turned.  The  irrepressible  look  of  humorous 
tolerance  of  all  human  frailty  had  suffused  Poindexter's 


296  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

black  eyes  with  mischievous  moisture.  "  If  you  think  it 
quite  safe  to  confide  to  your  wife  this  prospect  of  her 
improvement  by  widowhood,  you  may ! " 


III. 

Mr.  Patterson  did  not  inform  his  wife  of  the  lawyer's 
personal  threat  to  himself.  But  he  managed,  after  Poin- 
dexter  had  left,  to  make  her  conscious  that  Mrs.  Tucker 
might  be  a  power  to  be  placated  and  feared.  "  You  've 
shot  off  your  mouth  at  her,"  he  said  argumentatively, 
"  and  whether  you  've  hit  the  mark  or  not  you  Ve  had 
your  say.  Ef  you  think  it 's  worth  a  possible  five  thou 
sand  dollars  and  interest  to  keep  on,  heave  ahead.  Ef 
you  rather  have  the  chance  of  getting  the  rest  in  cash, 
you  '11  let  up  on  her."  "  You  don't  suppose,"  returned 
Mrs.  Patterson  contemptuously,  "  that  she  's  got  anything 
but  what  that  man  of  hers  —  Poindexter  —  lets  her 
have  ?  "  "  The  sheriff  says,"  retorted  Patterson  surlily, 
"  that  she  's  notified  him  that  she  claims  the  rancho  as  a 
gift  from  her  husband  three  years  ago,  and  she  's  in  pos 
session  now,  and  was  so  when  the  execution  was  out.  It 
don't  make  no  matter,"  he  added,  with  gloomy  philoso 
phy,  "who  's  got  a  full  hand  as  long  as  we  ain't  got  the 
cards  to  chip  in.  I  would  n't  'a'  minded  it,"  he  continued 
meditatively,  "  ef  Spence  Tucker  had  dropped  a  hint  to 
me  afore  he  put  out."  "  And  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Pat 
terson  angrily,  " you 'd  have  put  out  too ?  "  "I  reckon," 
said  Patterson  simply. 

Twice  or  thrice  during  the  evening  he  referred,  more  or 
less  directly,  to  this  lack  of  confidence  shown  by  his  late 
debtor  and  employer,  and  seemed  to  feel  it  more  keenly 
than  the  loss  of  property.  He  confided  his  sentiments 
quite  openly  to  the  sheriff  in  possession,  over  the  whiskey 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  297 

and  euchre  with  which  these  gentlemen  avoided  the 
difficulties  of  their  delicate  relations.  He  brooded  over 
it  as  he  handed  the  keys  of  the  shop  to  the  sheriff  when 
they  parted  for  the  night,  and  was  still  thinking  of  it 
when  the  house  was  closed,  everybody  gone  to  bed,  and 
he  was  fetching  a  fresh  jug  of  water  from  the  well.  The 
moon  was  at  times  obscured  by  flying  clouds,  the  avant- 
couriers  of  the  regular  evening  shower.  He  was  stooping 
over  the  well,  when  he  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet  again. 
"  Who  's  there  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  a  voice  so  low  and  faint  it  might  have 
been  a  whisper  of  the  wind  in  the  palisades  of  the  corral. 
But,  indistinct  as  it  was,  it  was  the  voice  of  a  man  he 
was  thinking  of  as  far  away,  and  it  sent  a  thrill  of 
alternate  awe  and  pleasure  through  his  pulses. 

He  glanced  quickly  round.  The  moon  was  hidden 
by  a  passing  cloud,  and  only  the  faint  outlines  of  the 
house  he  had  just  quitted  were  visible.  "  Is  that  you, 
Spence  ?  "  he  said  tremulously. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  voice,  and  a  figure  dimly  emerged 
from  the  corner  of  the  corral. 

"  Lay  low,  lay  low,  for  God's  sake,"  said  Patterson, 
hurriedly  throwing  himself  upon  the  apparition.  "  The 
sheriff  and  his  posse  are  in  there." 

"  But  I  must  speak  to  you  a  moment,"  said  the 
figure. 

"  Wait,"  said  Patterson,  glancing  toward  the  building. 
Its  blank,  shutterless  windows  revealed  no  inner  light ;  a 
profound  silence  encompassed  it.  "  Come  quick,"  he 
whispered.  Letting  his  grasp  slip  down  to  the  unresist 
ing  hand  of  the  stranger,  he  half  dragged,  half  led  him, 
brushing  against  the  wall,  into  the  open  door  of  the 
deserted  bar-room  he  had  just  quitted,  locked  the  inner 
door,  poured  a  glass  of  whiskey  from  a  decanter,  gave  it 
to  him,  and  then  watched  him  drain  it  at  a  single  draught. 


298  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

The  moon  came  out,  and  falling  through  the  bare  win 
dows  full  upon  the  stranger's  face,  revealed  the  artistic 
but  slightly  disheveled  curls  and  mustache  of  the  fugi 
tive,  Spencer  Tucker. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  real  influence  of  this 
unfortunate  man  upon  his  fellows,  it  seemed  to  find 
expression  in  a  singular  unanimity  of  criticism.  Patter 
son  looked  at  him  with  a  half  dismal,  half  welcoming  smile. 
"Well,  you  are  a  h — 11  of  a  fellow,  ain't  you  ?" 

Spencer  Tucker  passed  his  hand  through  his  hair  and 
lifted  it  from  his  forehead,  with  a  gesture  at  once  emo 
tional  and  theatrical.  "  I  am  a  man  with  a  price  on 
me  !  "  he  said  bitterly.  "  Give  me  up  to  the  sheriff,  and 
you  '11  get  five  thousand  dollars.  Help  me,  and  you  '11 
get  nothing.  That 's  my  d — d  luck,  and  yours  too,  I 
suppose." 

"  I  reckon  you  're  right  there,"  said  Patterson  gloomily. 
"But  I  thought  you  got  clean  away, — went  off  in  a 
ship"  — 

"  Went  off  in  a  boat  to  a  ship,"  interrupted  Tucker 
savagely  \  "  went  off  to  a  ship  that  had  all  my  things  on 
board  —  everything.  The  cursed  boat  capsized  in  a 
squall  just  off  the  Heads.  The  ship,  d — n  her,  sailed 
away,  the  men  thinking  I  was  drowned,  likely,  and  that 
they'd  make  a  good  thing  off  my  goods,  I  reckon." 

"  But  the  girl,  Inez,  who  was  with  you,  did  n't  she 
make  a  row  ? " 

"  Quien  sabe  ?  "  returned  Tucker,  with  a  reckless  laugh. 
"  Well,  I  hung  on  like  grim  death  to  that  boat's  keel  until 
one  of  those  Chinese  fishermen,  in  a  '  dug-out,'  hauled  me 
in  opposite  Saucelito.  I  chartered  him  and  his  dug-out 
to  bring  me  down  here." 

"  Why  here  ? "  asked  Patterson,  with  a  certain  ostenta 
tious  caution  that  ill  concealed  his  pensive  satisfaction. 

"  You  may  well  ask,"  returned  Tucker,  with  an   equal 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  299 

ostentation  of  bitterness,  as  he  slightly  waved  his  com 
panion  away.  "  But  I  reckoned  I  could  trust  a  white 
man  that  I  'd  been  kind  to,  and  who  would  n't  go  back 
on  me.  No,  no,  let  me  go !  Hand  me  over  to  the 
sheriff !  " 

Patterson  had  suddenly  grasped  both  the  hands  of  the 
picturesque  scamp  before  him,  with  an  affection  that  for 
an  instant  almost  shamed  the  man  who  had  ruined  him. 
But  Tucker's  egotism  whispered  that  this  affection  was 
only  a  recognition  of  his  own  superiority,  and  felt  flat 
tered.  He  was  beginning  to  believe  that  he  was  really 
the  injured  party. 

"  What  I  have  arid  what  I  have  had  is  yours,  Spence," 
returned  Patterson,  with  a  sad  and  simple  directness  that 
made  any  further  discussion  a  gratuitous  insult.  "  I  only 
wanted  to  know  what  you  reckoned  to  do  here." 

"  I  want  to  get  over  across  the  Coast  Range  to  Mon 
terey,"  said  Tucker.  "  Once  there,  one  of  those  coasting 
schooners  will  bring  me  down  to  Acapulco,  where  the  ship 
will  put  in." 

Patterson  remained  silent  for  a  moment.  "  There's  a 
mustang  in  the  corral  you  can  take  —  leastways,  I  shan't 
know  that  it  's  gone  —  until  to-morrow  afternoon.  In  an 
hour  from  now,"  he  added,  looking  from  the  window, 
"  these  clouds  will  settle  down  to  business.  It  will  rain  ; 
there  will  be  light  enough  for  you  to  find  your  way  by  the 
regular  trail  over  the  mountain,  but  not  enough  for  any 
one  to  know  you.  If  you  can't  push  through  to-night, 
you  can  lie  over  at  the  posada  on  the  summit.  Them 
greasers  that  keep  it  won't  know  you,-  and  if  they  did 
they  won't  go  back  on  you.  And  if  they  did  go  back  on 
you,  nobody  would  believe  them.  It's  mighty  curious," 
he  added,  with  gloomy  philosophy,  but  I  reckon  it 's  the 
reason  why  Providence  allows  this  kind  of  cattle  to  live 
among  white  men  and  others  made  in  his  image.  Take 


300  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

a  piece  of  pie,  won't  you  ?  "  he  continued,  abandoning 
this  abstract  reflection  and  producing  half  a  flat  pumpkin 
pie  from  the  bar.  Spencer  Tucker  grasped  the  pie  with 
one  hand  and  his  friend's  fingers  with  the  other,  and  for 
a  few  moments  was  silent  from  the  hurried  deglutition  of 
viand  and  sentiment.  "  You're  a  white  man,  Patterson, 
any  way,"  he  resumed.  "  I  '11  take  your  horse,  and  put 
it  down  in  our  account  at  your  own  figure.  As  soon  as 
this  cursed  thing  is  blown  over,  I  '11  be  back  here  and  see 
you  through,  you  bet !  I  don't  desert  my  friends,  how 
ever  rough  things  go  with  me." 

"  I  see  you  don't,"  returned  Patterson,  with  an  uncon 
scious  and  serious  simplicity  that  had  the  effect  of  the 
most  exquisite  irony.  "  I  was  only  just  saying  to  the 
sheriff  that  if  there  was  anything  I  could  have  done  for 
you,  you  would  n't  have  cut  away  without  letting  me 
know."  Tucker  glanced  uneasily  at  Patterson,  who  con 
tinued,  "Ye  ain't  wanting  anything  else?"  Then  ob 
serving  that  his  former  friend  and  patron  was  roughly 
but  newly  clothed,  and  betrayed  no  trace  of  his  last  es 
capade,  he  added,  "  I  see  you  've  got  a  fresh  harness." 

"That  d — d  Chinaman  bought  me  these  at  the  land 
ing.  They  're  not  much  in  style  or  fit,"  he  continued, 
trying  to  get  a  moonlight  view  of  himself  in  the  mirror 
behind  the  bar,  "  but  that  don't  matter  here."  He  filled 
another  glass  of  spirits,  jauntily  settled  himself  back  in 
his  chair,  and  added,  "I  don't  suppose  there  are  any 
girls  around,  anyway." 

"  'Cept  your  wife  ;  she  was  down  here  this  afternoon," 
said  Patterson  meditatively. 

Mr.  Tucker  paused  with  the  pie  in  his  hand.  "  Ah, 
yes ! "  He  essayed  a  reckless  laugh,  but  that  evident 
simulation  failed  before  Patterson's  melancholy.  With 
an  assumption  of  falling  in  with  his  friend's  manner, 
rather  than  from  any  personal  anxiety,  he  continued, 
"  Well  ? " 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  301 

"  That  man  Poindexter  was  down  here  with  her.  Put 
her  in  the  hacienda  to  hold  possession  afore  the  news 
came  out." 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Tucker,  rising  hastily.  "  It  don't 
belong  —  that  is  "  —  he  hesitated. 

"  Yer  thinking  the,  creditors  '11  get  it,  mebbe,"  returned 
Patterson,  gazing  at  the  floor.  "  Not  as  long  as  she 's  in 
it ;  no  sir !  Whether  it 's  really  hers,  or  she  's  only  keep 
ing  house  for  Poindexter,  she  's  a  fixture,  you  bet.  They 
are  a  team  when  they  pull  together,  they  are  ! " 

The  smile  slowly  faded  from  Tucker's  face,  that  now 
looked  quite  rigid  in  the  moonlight.  He  put  down  his 
glass  and  walked  to  the  window  as  Patterson  gloomily 
continued:  "But  that's  nothing  to  you.  You've  got 
ahead  of  'em  both,  and  had  your  revenge  by  going  off 
with  the  gal.  That 's  what  I  said  all  along.  When  folks 
—  specially  women  folks  —  wondered  how  you  could  leave 
a  woman  like  your  wife,  and  go  off  with  a  scallawag  like 
that  gal,  I  allers  said  they  'd  find  out  there  was  a  reason. 
And  when  your  wife  came  flaunting  down  here  with 
Poindexter  before  she  'd  quite  got  quit  of  you,  I  reckon 
they  began  to  see  the  whole  little  game.  No,  sir !  I 
knew  it  was  n't  on  account  of  the  gal !  Why,  when  you 
came  here  to-night  and  told  me  quite  nat'ral-like  and  easy 
how  she  went  off  in  the  ship,  and  then  calmly  ate  your 
pie  and  drank  your  whiskey  after  it,  I  knew  you  did  n't 
care  for  her.  There  's  my  hand,  Spence  ;  you  're  a  trump, 
even  if  you  are  a  little  looney,  eh  ?  Why,  what 's  up  ?  " 

Shallow  and  selfish  as  Tucker  was,  Patterson's  words 
seemed  like  a  revelation  that  shocked  him  as  profoundly 
as  it  might  have  shocked  a  nobler  nature.  The  simple 
vanity  and  selfishness  that  made  him  unable  to  conceive 
any  higher  reason  for  his  wife's  loyalty  than  his  own  per 
sonal  popularity  and  success,  now  that  he  no  longer 
possessed  that  bdat,  made  him  equally  capable  of  the 


302  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

lowest  suspicions.  He  was  a  dishonored  fugitive,  broken 
in  fortune  and  reputation  —  why  should  she  not  desert 
him  ?  He  had  been  unfaithful  to  her  from  wildness,  from 
caprice,  from  the  effect  of  those  fascinating  qualities ;  it 
seemed  to  him  natural  that  she  should  be  disloyal  from 
more  deliberate  motives,  and  he  hugged  himself  with  that 
belief.  Yet  there  was  enough  doubt,  enough  of  haunting 
suspicion,  that  he  had  lost  or  alienated  a  powerful  affec 
tion,  to  make  him  thoroughly  miserable.  He  returned 
his  friend's  grasp  convulsively  and  buried  his  face  upon 
his  shoulder.  But  he  was  above  feeling  a  certain  exulta 
tion  in  the  effect  of  his  misery  upon  the  dog-like,  unrea 
soning  affection  of  Patterson,  nor  could  he  entirely  re 
frain  from  slightly  posing  his  affliction  before  that  sym 
pathetic  but  melancholy  man.  Suddenly  he  raised  his 
head,  drew  back,  and  thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom  with 
a  theatrical  gesture. 

"  What 's  to  keep  me  from  killing  Poindexter  in  his 
tracks  ?  "  he  said  wildly. 

"  Nothin'  but  his  shooting  first,"  returned  Patterson, 
with  dismal  practicality.  "  He  's  mighty  quick,  like  all 
them  army  men.  It 's  about  even,  I  reckon,  that  he  don't 
get  me  first,"  he  added  in  an  ominous  voice. 

"  No  !  "  returned  Tucker,  grasping  his  hand  again. 
"  This  is  not  your  affair,  Patterson  ;  leave  him  to  me 
when  I  come  back." 

"  If  he  ever  gets  the  drop  on  me,  I  reckon  he  won't 
wait,"  continued  Patterson  lugubriously.  "  He  seems  to 
object  to  my  passin'  criticism  on  your  wife,  as  if  she  was 
a  queen  or  an  angel." 

The  blood  came  to  Spencer's  cheek,  and  he  turned 
uneasily  to  the  window.  "  It 's  dark  enough  now  for  a 
start,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  and  if  I  could  get  across  the 
mountain  without  lying  over  at  the  summit,  it  would  be  a 
day  gained." 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  303 

Patterson  arose  without  a  word,  filled  a  flask  of  spirit, 
handed  it  to  his  friend,  and  silently  led  the  way  through 
the  slowly  falling  rain  and  the  now  settled  darkness. 
The  mustang  was  quickly  secured  and  saddled ;  a  heavy 
poncho  afforded  Tucker  a  disguise  as  well  as  a  protection 
from  the  rain.  With  a  few  hurried,  disconnected  words, 
and  an  abstracted  air,  he  once  more  shook  his  friend's 
hand  and  issued  cautiously  from  the  corral.  When  out 
of  earshot  from  the  house  he  put  spurs  to  the  mustang, 
and  dashed  into  a  gallop. 

To  intersect  the  mountain  road  he  was  obliged  to  trav 
erse  part  of  the  highway  his  wife  had  walked  that  after 
noon,  and  to  pass  within  a  mile  of  the  casa  where  she  was. 
Long  before  he  reached  that  point  his  eyes  were  straining 
the  darkness  in  that  direction  for  some  indication  of  the 
house  which  was  to  him  familiar.  Becoming  now  accus 
tomed  to  the  even  obscurity,  less  trying  to  the  vision  than 
the  alternate  light  and  shadow  of  cloud  or  the  full  glare 
of  the  moonlight,  he  fancied  he  could  distinguish  its  low 
walls  over  the  monotonous  level.  One  of  those  impulses 
which  had  so  often  taken  the  place  of  resolution  in  his 
character  suddenly  possessed  him  to  diverge  from  his 
course  and  approach  the  house.  Why,  he  could  not  have 
explained.  It  was  not  from  any  feeling  of  jealous  sus 
picion  or  contemplated  revenge  —  that  had  passed  with 
the  presence  of  Patterson ;  it  was  not  from  any  vague 
lingering  sentiment  for  the  woman  he  had  wronged  —  he 
would  have  shrunk  from  meeting  her  at  that  moment. 
But  it  was  full  of  these  and  more  possibilities  by  which 
he  might  or  might  not  be  guided,  and  was  at  least  a 
movement  towards  some  vague  end,  and  a  distraction 
from  certain  thoughts  he  dared  not  entertain  and  could 
not  entirely  dismiss.  Inconceivable  and  inexplicable  to 
human  reason,  it  might  have  been  acceptable  to  the  Di 
vine  omniscience  for  its  predestined  result. 


304  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

He  left  the  road  at  a  point  where  the  marsh  encroached 
upon  the  meadow,  familiar  to  him  already  as  near  the 
spot  where  he  had  debarked  from  the  Chinaman's  boat 
the  day  before.  He  remembered  that  the  walls  of  the 
hacienda  were  distinctly  visible  from  the  tules  where  he 
had  hidden  all  day,  and  he  now  knew  that  the  figures  he 
had  observed  near  the  building,  which  had  deterred  his 
first  attempts  at  landing,  must  have  been  his  wife  and  his 
friend.  He  knew  that  a  long  tongue  of  the  slough  filled 
by  the  rising  tide  followed  the  marsh,  and  lay  between 
him  and  the  hacienda.  The  sinking  of  his  horse's  hoofs 
in  the  spongy  soil  determined  its  proximity,  and  he  made 
a  de'tour  to  the  right  to  avoid  it.  In  doing  so,  a  light 
suddenly  rose  above  the  distant  horizon  ahead  of  him, 
trembled  faintly,  and  then  burned  with  a  steady  lustre. 
It  was  a  light  at  the  hacienda.  Guiding  his  horse  half 
abstractedly  in  this  direction,  his  progress  was  presently 
checked  by  the  splashing  of  the  animal's  hoofs  in  the 
water.  But  the  turf  below  was  firm,  and  a  salt  drop  that 
had  spattered  to  his  lips  told  him  that  it  was  only  the 
encroaching  of  the  tide  in  the  meadow.  With  his  eyes 
on  the  light,  he  again  urged  his  horse  forward.  The  rain 
lulled,  the  clouds  began  to  break,  the  landscape  alter 
nately  lightened  and  grew  dark ;  the  outlines  of  the  crum 
bling  hacienda  walls  that  enshrined  the  light  grew  more 
visible.  A  strange  and  dreamy  resemblance  to  the  long 
blue-grass  plain  before  his  wife's  paternal  house,  as  seen 
by  him  during  his  evening  rides  to  courtship,  pressed  it 
self  upon  him.  He  remembered,  too,  that  she  used  to 
put  a  light  in  the  window  to  indicate  her  presence.  Fol 
lowing  this  retrospect,  the  moon  came  boldly  out, 
sparkled  upon  the  overflow  of  silver  at  his  feet,  seemed 
to  show  the  dark,  opaque  meadow  beyond  for  a  moment, 
and  then  disappeared.  It  was  dark  now,  but  the  lesser 
earthly  star  still  shone  before  him  as  a  guide,  and  push 
ing  towards  it,  he  passed  in  the  all-embracing  shadow. 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  305 


IV. 

As  Mrs.  Tucker,  erect,  white,  and  rigid,  drove  away 
from  the  tienda,  it  seemed  to  her  to  sink  again  into  the 
monotonous  plain,  with  all  its  horrible  realities.  Except 
that  there  was  now  a  new  and  heart-breaking  significance 
to  the  solitude  and  loneliness  of  the  landscape,  all  that 
had  passed  might  have  been  a  dream.  But  as  the  blood 
came  back  to  her  cheek,  and  little  by  little  her  tingling 
consciousness  returned,  it  seemed  as  if  her  life  had  been 
the  dream,  and  this  last  scene  the  awakening  reality. 
With  eyes  smarting  with  the  moisture  of  shame,  the 
scarlet  blood  at  times  dyeing  her  very  neck  and  temples, 
she  muffled  her  lowered  crest  in  her  shawl  and  bent  over 
the  reins.  Bit  by  bit  she  recalled,  in  Poindexter's  mys 
terious  caution  and  strange  allusions,  the  corroboration  of 
her  husband's  shame  and  her  own  disgrace.  This  was 
why  she  was  brought  hither  —  the  deserted  wife,  the 
abandoned  confederate  !  The  mocking  glitter  of  the 
concave  vault  above  her,  scoured  by  the  incessant  wind, 
the  cold  stare  of  the  shining  pools  beyond,  the  hard  out 
lines  of  the  Coast  Range,  and  the  jarring  accompaniment 
of  her  horse's  hoofs  and  rattling  buggy-wheels,  alternately 
goaded  and  distracted  her.  She  found  herself  repeating 
"  No  !  no !  no !  "  with  the  dogged  reiteration  of  fever. 
She  scarcely  knew  when  or  how  she  reached  the  hacienda. 
She  was  only  conscious  that  as  she  entered  the  patio  the 
dusky  solitude  that  had  before  filled  her  with  unrest  now 
came  to  her  like  balm.  A  benumbing  peace  seemed  to 
fall  from  the  crumbling  walls ;  the  peace  of  utter  seclusion, 
isolation,  oblivion,  death !  Nevertheless,  an  hour  later, 
when  the  jingle  of  spurs  and  bridle  were  again  heard  in 
the  road,  she  started  to  her  feet  with  bent  brows  and  a 
kindling  eye,  and  confronted  Captain  Poindexter  in  the 
corridor. 


306  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

"  I  would  not  have  intruded  upon  you  so  soon  again," 
he  said  gravely,  "but  I  thought  I  might  perhaps  spare 
you  a  repetition  of  the  scene  of  this  morning.  Hear  me 
out,  please,"  he  added,  with  a  gentle,  half  deprecating 
gesture,  as  she  lifted  the  beautiful  scorn  of  her  eyes  to 
his.  "  I  have  just  heard  that  your  neighbor,  Don  Josd 
Santierra,  of  Los  Gatos,  is  on  his  way  to  this  house.  He 
once  claimed  this  land,  and  hated  your  husband,  who 
bought  of  the  rival  claimant,  whose  grant  was  confirmed. 
I  tell  you  this,"  he  added,  slightly  flushing  as  Mrs.  Tucker 
turned  impatiently  away,  "  only  to  show  you  that  legally 
he  has  no  rights,  and  you  need  not  see  him  unless  you 
choose.  I  could  not  stop  his  coming  without  perhaps 
doing  you  more  harm  than  good ;  but  when  he  does  come, 
my  presence  under  this  roof  as  your  legal  counsel  will 
enable  you  to  refer  him  to  me."  He  stopped.  She  was 
pacing  the  corridor  with  short,  impatient  steps,  her  arms 
dropped,  and  her  hands  clasped  rigidly  before  her.  "  Have 
I  your  permission  to  stay  ? " 

She  suddenly  stopped  in  her  walk,  approached  him 
rapidly,  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  his,  said  : 

"  Do  I  know  ally  now  —  everything  ?  " 

He  could  only  reply  that  she  had  not  yet  told  him  what 
she  had  heard. 

"  Well,"  she  said  scornfully,  "  that  my  husband  has 
been  cruelly  imposed  upon  —  imposed  upon  by  some 
wretched  woman,  who  has  made  him  sacrifice  his  pro 
perty,  his  friends,  his  honor  —  everything  but  me  !  " 

"  Everything  but  whom  ?  "  gasped  Poindexter. 

"  But  ME  !  " 

Poindexter  gazed  at  the  sky,  the  air,  the  deserted  cor 
ridor,  the  stones  of  the  patio  itself,  and  then  at  the  inex 
plicable  woman  before  him.  Then  he  said  gravely,  "  I 
think  you  know  everything." 

"  Then  if  my  husband  has  left  me  all  he  could  —  this 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  307 

property,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  twisting  her  handker 
chief  between  her  fingers,  "  I  can  do  with  it  what  I  like, 
can't  I  ?  " 

"You  certainly  can." 

"  Then  sell  it,"  she  said,  with  passionate  vehemence. 
"  Sell  it  —  all !  everything !  And  sell  these."  She  darted 
into  her  bedroom,  and  returned  with  the  diamond  rings 
she  had  torn  from  her  fingers  and  ears  when  she  entered 
the  house.  "  Sell  them  for  anything  they  '11  bring,  only 
sell  them  at  once." 

"  But  for  what  ? "  asked  Poindexter,  with  demure  lips 
but  twinkling  eyes. 

"  To  pay  the  debts  that  this  —  this  —  woman  has  led 
him  into  ;  to  return  the  money  she  has  stolen  ! "  she 
went  on  rapidly ;  "  to  keep  him  from  sharing  infamy  ! 
Can't  you  understand  ?  " 

"  But,  my  dear  madam,"  began  Poindexter,  "  even  if 
this  could  be  done  "  — 

"  Don't  tell  me  '  if  it  could '  —  it  must  be  done.  Do 
you  think  I  could  sleep  under  this  roof,  propped  up  by  the 
timbers  of  that  ruined  tiendal  Do  you  think  I  could 
wear  those  diamonds  again,  while  that  termagant  shop- 
woman  can  say  that  her  money  bought  them  ?  No  !  If 
you  are  my  husband's  friend  you  will  do  this  —  for  —  for 
his  sake."  She  stopped,  locked  and  interlocked  her  cold 
fingers  before  her,  and  said,  hesitating  and  mechanically, 
"You  meant  well,  Captain  Poindexter,  in  bringing  me 
here,  I  know  !  You  must  not  think  that  I  blame  you  for 
it,  or  for  the  miserable  result  of  it  that  you  have  just  wit 
nessed.  But  if  I  have  gained  anything  by  it,  for  God's 
sake  let  me  reap  it  quickly,  that  I  may  give  it  to  these  peo 
ple  and  go  !  I  have  a  friend  who  can  aid  me  to  get  to 
my  husband  or  to  my  home  in  Kentucky,  where  Spencer 
will  yet  find  me,  I  know.  I  want  nothing  more."  She 
stopped  again.  With  another  woman  the  pause  would 


308  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

have  been  one  of  tears.  But  she  kept  her  head  above 
the  flood  that  filled  her  heart,  and  the  clear  eyes  fixed 
upon  Poindexter,  albeit  pained,  were  undimmed. 

"  But  this  would  require  time,"  said  Poindexter,  with 
a  smile  of  compassionate  explanation  ;  "  you  could  not 
sell  now,  nobody  would  buy.  You  are  safe  to  hold  this 
property  while  you  are  in  actual  possession,  but  you  are 
not  strong  enough  to  guarantee  it  to  another.  There  may 
still  be  litigation ;  your  husband  has  other  creditors  than 
these  people  you  have  talked  with.  But  while  nobody 
could  oust  you  —  the  wife  who  would  have  the  sympathies 
of  judge  and  jury  —  it  might  be  a  different  case  with  any 
one  who  derived  title  from  you.  Any  purchaser  would 
know  that  you  could  not  sell,  or  if  you  did,  it  would  be  at 
a  ridiculous  sacrifice." 

She  listened  to  him  abstractedly,  walked  to  the  end  of 
the  corridor,  returned,  and  without  looking  up,  said  : 

"  I  suppose  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

"This  woman.     You  have  seen  her?" 

"  Never,  to  my  knowledge." 

"  And  you  are  his  friend !  That 's  strange."  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  his.  "Well,"  she  continued  impa 
tiently,  "  who  is  she  ?  and  what  is  she  ?  You  know  that 
surely." 

"  I  know  no  more  of  her  than  what  I  have  said,"  said 
Poindexter.  "  She  is  a  notorious  woman." 

The  swift  color  came  to  Mrs.  Tucker's  face  as  if  the 
epithet  had  been  applied  to  herself.  "  I  suppose,"  she 
said  in  a  dry  voice,  as  if  she  were  asking  a  business  ques 
tion,  but  with  an  eye  that  showed  her  rising  anger,  —  "I 
suppose  there  is  some  law  by  which  creatures  of  this  kind 
can  be  followed  and  brought  to  justice  —  some  law  that 
would  keep  innocent  people  from  suffering  for  their 
crimes  ? " 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  309 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Poindexter,  "  that  arresting  her 
would  hardly  help  these  people  over  in  the  tienda" 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  them,"  responded  Mrs.  Tucker, 
with  a  sudden  sublime  contempt  for  the  people  whose 
cause  she  had  espoused  ;  "  I  am  talking  of  my  husband." 

Poindexter  bit  his  lip.  "  You  'd  hardly  think  of  bring 
ing  back  the  strongest  witness  against  him,"  he  said 
bluntly. 

Mrs.  Tucker  dropped  her  eyes  and  was  silent.  A  sud 
den  shame  suifused  Poindexter's  cheek ;  he  felt  as  if  he 
had  struck  that  woman  a  blow.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he 
said  hastily ;  "  I  am  talking  like  a  lawyer  to  a  lawyer." 
He  would*have  taken  any  other  woman  by  the  hand  in 
the  honest  fullness  of  his  apology,  but  something  re 
strained  him  here.  He  only  looked  down  gently  on  her 
lowered  lashes,  and  repeated  his  question  if  he  should 
remain  during  the  coming  interview  with  Don  Jose.  "  I 
must  beg  you  to  determine  quickly,"  he  added,  "  for  I 
already  hear  him  entering  the  gate." 

"  Stay,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  as  the  ringing  of  spurs  and 
clatter  of  hoofs  came  from  the  corral.  "  One  moment." 
She  looked  up  suddenly,  and  said,  "  How  long  had  he 
known  her  ? "  But  before  he  could  reply  there  was  a 
step  in  the  doorway,  and  the  figure  of  Don  Jose  Santierra 
emerged  from  the  archway. 

He  was  a  man  slightly  past  middle  age,  fair,  and  well 
shaven,  wearing  a  black  broadcloth  serape,  the  deeply 
embroidered  opening  of  which  formed  a  collar  of  silver 
rays  around  his  neck,  while  a  row  of  silver  buttons  down 
the  side  seams  of  his  riding-trousers,  and  silver  spurs 
completed  his  singular  equipment.  Mrs.  Tucker's  swift 
feminine  glance  took  in  these  details,  as  well  as  the  deep 
salutation,  more  formal  than  the  exuberant  frontier  polite 
ness  she  was  accustomed  to,  with  which  he  greeted  her. 
It  was  enough  to  arrest  her  first  impulse  to  retreat.  She 


3io  A  Blue   Grass  Penelope. 

hesitated  and  stopped  as  Poindexter  stepped  forward, 
partly  interposing  between  them,  acknowledging  Don 
Jose's  distant  recognition  of  himself  with  an  ironical 
accession  of  his  usual  humorous  tolerance.  The  Span 
iard  did  not  seem  to  notice  it,  but  remained  gravely 
silent  before  Mrs.  Tucker,  gazing  at  her  with  an  expres 
sion  of  intent  and  unconscious  absorption. 

"You  are  quite  right,  Don  Jose,"  said  Poindexter,  with 
ironical  concern,  "  it  is  Mrs.  Tucker.  Your  eyes  do  not 
deceive  you.  She  will  be  glad  to  do  the  honors  of  her 
house,"  he  continued,  with  a  simulation  of  appealing  to 
her,  "  unless  you  visit  her  on  business,  when  I  need  not 
say  /  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  attend  you,  as  before." 

Don  Jose,  with  a  slight  lifting  of  the  eyebrows,  allowed 
himself  to  become  conscious  of  the  lawyer's  meaning. 
"  It  is  not  of  business  that  I  come  to  kiss  the  Senora's 
hand  to-day,"  he  replied,  with  a  melancholy  softness ;  "  it 
is  as  her  neighbor,  to  put  myself  at  her  disposition.  Ah ! 
what  have  we  here  fit  for  a  lady  ?  "  he  continued,  raising 
his  eyes  in  deprecation  of  the  surroundings  ;  "  a  house  of 
nothing,  a  place  of  winds  and  dry  bones,  without  refresh 
ments,  or  satisfaction,  or  delicacy.  The  Senora  will  not 
refuse  to  make  us  proud  this  day  to  send  her  of  that  which 
we  have  in  our  poor  home  at  Los  Gatos,  to  make  her  more 
complete.  Of  what  shall  it  be  ?  Let  her  make  choice. 
Or  if  she  would  commemorate  this  day  by  accepting  of 
our  hospitality  at  Los  Gatos,  until  she  shall  arrange 
herself  the  more  to  receive  us  here,  we  shall  have  too 
much  honor." 

"  The  Senora  would  only  find  it  the  more  difficult  to 
return  to  this  humble  roof  again,  after  once  leaving  it  for 
Don  Jose's  hospitality,"  said  Poindexter,  with  a  demure 
glance  at  Mrs.  Tucker.  But  the  innuendo  seemed  to 
lapse  equally  unheeded  by  his  fair  client  and  the  stranger. 
Raising  her  eyes  with  a  certain  timid  dignity  which  Don 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  311 

Jose's  presence  seemed  to  have  called  out,  she  addressed 
herself  to  him. 

"You  are  very  kind  and  considerate,  Mister  Santierra, 
and  I  thank  you.  I  know  that  my  husband  "  —  she  let 
the  clear  beauty  of  her  translucent  eyes  rest  full  on  both 
men  —  "  would  thank  you  too.  But  I  shall  not  be  here 
long  enough  to  accept  your  kindness  in  this  house  nor  in 
your  own.  I  have  but  one  desire  and  object  now.  It  is 
to  dispose  of  this  property,  and  indeed  all  I  possess,  to 
pay  the  debt  of  my  husband.  It  is  in  your  power,  per 
haps,  to  help  me.  I  am  told  that  you  wish  to  possess 
Los  Cuervos,"  she  went  on,  equally  oblivious  of  the 
consciousness  that  appeared  in  Don  Jose's  face,  and  a 
humorous  perplexity  on  the  brow  of  Poindexter.  "  If  you 
can  arrange  it  with  Mr.  Poindexter,  you  will  find  me  a 
liberal  vendor.  That  much  you  can  do,  and  I  know  you 
will  believe  I  shall  be  grateful.  You  can  do  no  more, 
unless  it  be  to  say  to  your  friends  that  Mrs.  Belle  Tucker 
remains  here  only  for  that  purpose,  and  to  carry  out  what 
she  knows  to  be  the  wishes  of  her  husband."  She 
paused,  bent  her  pretty  crest,  dropped  a  quaint  curtsey 
to  the  superior  age,  the  silver  braid,  and  the  gentlemanly 
bearing  of  Don  Jose,  and  with  the  passing  sunshine  of  a 
smile  disappeared  from  the  corridor. 

The  two  men  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  Don  Jose 
gazing  abstractedly  on  the  door  through  which  she  had 
vanished,  until  Poindexter,  with  a  return  of  his  tolerant 
smile,  said,  "  You  have  heard  the  views  of  Mrs.  Tucker. 
You  know  the  situation  as  well  as  she  does." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  possibly  better." 

Poindexter  darted  a  quick  glance  at  the  grave,  sallow 
face  of  Don  Jose,  but  detecting  no  unusual  significance  in 
his  manner,  continued,  "  As  you  see,  she  leaves  this 
matter  in  my  hands.  Let  us  talk  like  business  men. 
Have  you  any  idea  of  purchasing  this  property  ? " 


312  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

"Of  purchasing?  ah,  no." 

Poindexter  bent  his  brows,  but  quickly  relaxed  them 
with  a  smile  of  humorous  forgiveness.  "  If  you  have  any 
other  idea,  Don  Jose,  I  ought  to  warn  you,  as  Mrs.  Tuck 
er's  lawyer,  that  she  is  in  legal  possession  here,  and  that 
nothing  but  her  own  act  can  change  that  position." 

"Ah,  so." 

Irritated  at  the  shrug  which  accompanied  this,  Poin 
dexter  continued  haughtily,  "  If  I  am  to  understand,  you 
have  nothing  to  say  "  — 

"  To  say,  ah,  yes,  possibly.  But  "  —  he  glanced  to 
ward  the  door  of  Mrs.  Tucker's  room  —  "  not  here."  He 
stopped,  appeared  to  recall  himself,  and  with  an  apolo 
getic  smile  and  a  studied  but  graceful  gesture  of  invita 
tion,  he  motioned  to  the  gateway,  and  said,  "  Will  you 
ride  ? " 

"  What  can  the  fellow  be  up  to  ?  "  muttered  Poindexter, 
as  with  an  assenting  nod  he  proceeded  to  remount  his 
horse.  "  If  he  was  n't  an  old  hidalgo,  I  'd  mistrust  him. 
No  matter !  here  goes  !  " 

The  Don  also  remounted  his  half -broken  mustang; 
they  proceeded  in  solemn  silence  through  the  corral,  and 
side  by  side  emerged  on  the  open  plain.  Poindexter 
glanced  round ;  no  other  being  was  in  sight.  It  was  not 
until  the  lonely  hacienda  had  also  sunk  behind  them  that 
Don  Josd  broke  the  silence. 

"  You  say  just  now  we  shall  speak  as  business  men.  I 
say  no,  Don  Marco  ;  I  will  not.  I  shall  speak,  we  shall 
speak,  as  gentlemen." 

"Go  on,"  said  Poindexter,  who  was  beginning  to  be 
amused. 

"  I  say  just  now  I  will  not  purchase  the  rancho  from 
the  Senora.  And  why?  Look  you,  Don  Marco;"  he 
reined  in  his  horse,  thrust  his  hand  under  his  serape,  and 
drew  out  a  folded  document :  "  this  is  why." 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  313 

With  a  smile,  Poindexter  took  the  paper  from  his  hand 
and  opened  it.  But  the  smile  faded  from  his  lips  as  he 
read.  With  blazing  eyes  he  spurred  his  horse  beside  the 
Spaniard,  almost  unseating  him,  and  said  sternly,  "  What 
does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  mean  ? "  repeated  Don  Jose,  with  equally 
flashing  eyes  ;  "  I  '11  tell  you.  It  means  that  your  client, 
this  man  Spencer  Tucker,  is  a  Judas,  a  traitor  !  It  means 
that  he  gave  Los  Cuervos  to  his  mistress  a  year  ago,  and 
that  she  sold  it  to  me  —  to  me,  you  hear!  —  me,  Jose 
Santierra,  the  day  before  she  left !  It  means  that  the 
coyote  of  a  Spencer,  the  thief,  who  bought  these  lands  of 
a  thief  and  gave  them  to  a  thief,  has  tricked  you  all. 
Look,"  he  said,  rising  in  his  saddle,  holding  the  paper 
like  a  batony  and  defining  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm  the 
whole  level  plain,  "  all  these  lands  were  once  mine,  they 
are  mine  again  to-day.  Do  I  want  to  purchase  Los 
Cuervos?  you  ask,  for  you  will  speak  of  the  business. 
Well,  listen.  I  have  purchased  Los  Cuervos,  and  here  is 
the  deed." 

"But  it  has  never  been  recorded,"  said  Poindexter, 
with  a  carelessness  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

"  Of  a  verity,  no.  Do  you  wish  that  I  should  record 
it  ?  "  asked  Don  Josd,  with  a  return  of  his  simple  gravity. 

Poindexter  bit  his  lip.  "  You  said  we  were  to  talk  like 
gentlemen,"  he  returned.  "  Do  you  think  you  have  come 
into  possession  of  this  alleged  deed  like  a  gentleman  ?  " 

Don  Jose  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  found  it  tossed 
in  the  lap  of  a  harlot.  I  bought  it  for  a  song.  Eh,  what 
would  you?  " 

"  Would  you  sell  it  again  for  a  song  ?  "  asked  Poin 
dexter. 

"  Ah !  what  is  this  ?  "  said  Don  Jose,  lifting  his  iron- 
gray  brows;  "but  a  moment  ago  we  would  sell  every 
thing,  for  any  money.  Now  we  would  buy.  Is  it  so  ?  " 


314  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

"One  moment,  Don  Jose,"  said  Poindexter,  with  a 
baleful  light  in  his  dark  eyes.  "  Do  I  understand  that 
you  are  the  ally  of  Spencer  Tucker  and  his  mistress,  that 
you  intend  to  turn  this  doubly  betrayed  wife  from  the 
only  roof  she  has  to  cover  her  ? " 

"  Ah,  I  comprehend  not.  You  heard  her  say  she  wished 
to  go.  Perhaps  it  may  please  me  to  distribute  largess  to 
these  cattle  yonder,  I  do  not  say  no.  More  she  does  not 
ask.  But  you,  Don  Marco,  of  whom  are  you  advocate  ? 
You  abandon  your  client's  mistress  for  the  wife,  is  it 
so?" 

"  What  I  may  do  you  will  learn  hereafter,"  said  Poin 
dexter,  who  had  regained  his  composure,  suddenly  reining 
up  his  horse.  "  As  our  paths  seem  likely  to  diverge,  they 
had  better  begin  now.  Good  morning." 

"  Patience,  my  friend,  patience  !  Ah,  blessed  St.  An 
thony,  what  these  Americans  are  !  Listen.  For  what 
you  shall  do,  I  do  not  inquire.  The  question  is  to  me 
what  I  "  —  he  emphasized  the  pronoun  by  tapping  him 
self  on  the  breast  —  "  I,  Jose  Santierra,  will  do.  Well,  I 
shall  tell  you.  To-day,  nothing.  To-morrow,  nothing. 
For  a  week,  for  a  month,  nothing!  After,  we  shall  see." 

Poindexter  paused  thoughtfully.  "  Will  you  give  your 
word,  Don  Jose,  that  you  will  not  press  the  claim  for  a 
month  ?  " 

"  Truly,  on  one  condition.  Observe  !  I  do  not  ask 
you  for  an  equal  promise,  that  you  will  not  take  this  time 
to  defend  yourself."  He  shrugged  his  shoulder.  "  No  ! 
It  is  only  this.  You  shall  promise  that  during  that  time 
the  Sefiora  Tucker  shall  remain  ignorant  of  this  docu 
ment." 

Poindexter  hesitated  a  moment.  "  I  promise,"  he  said 
at  last. 

"  Good.    Adios,  Don  Marco." 

"Adios,  Don  Josd" 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  315 

The  Spaniard  put  spurs  to  his  mustang  and  galloped  off 
in  the  direction  of  Los  Gatos.  The  lawyer  remained  for 
a  moment  gazing  on  his  retreating  but  victorious  figure. 
For  the  first  time  the  old  look  of  humorous  toleration 
with  which  Mr.  Poindexter  was  in  the  habit  of  regarding 
all  human  infirmity  gave  way  to  something  like  bitterness. 
"  I  might  have  guessed  it,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  rise  of 
color.  "  He  's  an  old  fool ;  and  she  —  well,  perhaps  it 's 
all  the  better  for  her !  "  He  glanced  backwards  almost 
tenderly  in  the  direction  of  Los  Cuervos,  and  then  turned 
his  head  towards  the  embarcadero. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  a  creaking,  antiquated  ox 
cart  arrived  at  Los  Cuervos,  bearing  several  articles  of 
furniture,  and  some  tasteful  ornaments  from  Los  Gatos, 
at  the  same  time  that  a  young  Mexican  girl  mysteriously 
appeared  in  the  kitchen,  as  a  temporary  assistant  to  the 
decrepit  Concha.  These  were  both  clearly  attributable 
to  Don  Jose,  whose  visit  was  not  so  remote  but  that  these 
delicate  attentions  might  have  been  already  projected  be 
fore  Mrs.  Tucker  had  declined  them,  and  she  could  not, 
without  marked  discourtesy,  return  them  now.  She  did 
not  wish  to  seem  discourteous  ;  she  would  like  to  have 
been  more  civil  to  this  old  gentleman,  who  still  retained 
the  evidences  of  a  picturesque  and  decorous  past,  and  a 
repose  so  different  from  the  life  that  was  perplexing  her. 
Reflecting  that  if  he  bought  the  estate  these  things  would 
be  ready  to  his  hand,  and  with  a  woman's  instinct  recog 
nizing  their  value  in  setting  off  the  house  to  other  pur 
chasers'  eyes,  she  took  a  pleasure  in  tastefully  arranging 
them,  and  even  found  herself  speculating  how  she  might 
have  enjoyed  them  herself  had  she  been  able  to  keep 
possession  of  the  property.  After  all,  it  would  not  have 
been  so  lonely  if  refined  and  gentle  neighbors,  like  this 
old  man,  would  have  sympathized  with  her ;  she  had  an 
instinctive  feeling  that,  in  their  own  hopeless  decay  and 


316  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

hereditary  unfitness  for  this  new  civilization,  they  would 
have  been  more  tolerant  of  her  husband's  failure  than  his 
own  kind.  She  could  not  believe  that  Don  Jose  really 
hated  her  husband  for  buying  of  the  successful  claimant, 
as  there  was  no  other  legal  title.  Allowing  herself  to  be 
come  interested  in  the  guileless  gossip  of  the  new  hand 
maiden,  proud  of  her  broken  English,  she  was  drawn  into  a 
sympathy  with  the  grave  simplicity  of  Don  Jose's  character, 
a  relic  of  tkat  true  nobility  which  placed  this  descendant 
of  the  Castilians  and  the  daughter  of  a  free  people  on  the 
same  level. 

In  this  way  the  second  day  of  her  occupancy  of  Los 
Cuervos  closed,  with  dumb  clouds  along  the  gray  horizon, 
and  the  paroxysms  of  hysterical  wind  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  outside  the  walls ;  with  the  moon  rising  after 
nightfall,  and  losing  itself  in  silent  and  mysterious  con 
fidences  with  drifting  scud.  She  went  to  bed  early,  but 
woke  past  midnight,  hearing,  as  she  thought,  her  own 
name  called.  The  impression  was  so  strong  upon  her 
that  she  rose,  and,  hastily  enwrapping  herself,  went  to  the 
dark  embrasures  of  the  oven-shaped  windows,  and  looked 
out  The  dwarfed  oak  beside  the  window  was  still  drop 
ping  from  a  past  shower,  but  the  level  waste  of  marsh  and 
meadow  beyond  seemed  to  advance  and  recede  with  the 
coming  and  going  of  the  moon.  Again  she  heard  her 
name  called,  and  this  time  in  accents  so  strangely  familiar 
that  with  a  slight  cry  she  ran  into  the  corridor,  crossed 
the/0//0,  and  reached  the  open  gate.  The  darkness  that 
had,  even  in  this  brief  interval,  again  fallen  upon  the  pros 
pect  she  tried  in  vain  to  pierce  with  eye  and  voice.  A 
blank  silence  followed.  Then  the  veil  was  suddenly  with 
drawn  ;  the  vast  plain,  stretching  from  the  mountain  to 
the  sea,  shone  as  clearly  as  in  the  light  of  day ;  the  mov 
ing  current  of  the  channel  glittered  like  black  pearls,  the 
stagnant  pools  like  molten  lead  ;  but  not  a  sign  of  life  nor 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  317 

motion  broke  the  monotony  of  the  broad  expanse.  She 
must  have  surely  dreamed  it.  A  chill  wind  drove  her 
back  to  the  house  again ;  she  entered  her  bedroom,  and 
in  half  an  hour  she  was  in  a  peaceful  sleep. 


V. 

The  two  men  kept  their  secret.  Mr.  Poindexter  con 
vinced  Mrs.  Tucker  that  the  sale  of  Los  Cuervos  could 
not  be  effected  until  the  notoriety  of  her  husband's  flight 
had  been  fairly  forgotten,  and  she  was  forced  to  accept 
her  fate.  The  sale  of  her  diamonds,  which  seemed  to  her 
to  have  realized  a  singularly  extravagant  sum,  enabled 
her  to  quietly  reinstate  the  Pattersons  in  the  tienda  and 
to  discharge  in  full  her  husband's  liabilities  to  the  ran- 
cheros  and  his  humbler  retainers. 

Meanwhile  the  winter  rains  had  ceased.  It  seemed 
to  her  as  if  the  clouds  had  suddenly  one  night  struck 
their  white  tents  and  stolen  away,  leaving  the  unvan- 
quished  sun  to  mount  the  vacant  sky  the  next  morning 
alone,  and  possess  it  thenceforward  unchallenged.  One 
afternoon  she  thought  the  long  sad  waste  before  her  win 
dow  had  caught  some  tint  of  grayer  color  from  the  sun 
set  ;  a  week  later  she  found  it  a  blazing  landscape  of  pop 
pies,  broken  here  and  there  by  blue  lagoons  of  lupine,  by 
pools  of  daisies,  by  banks  of  dog-roses,  by  broad  outlying 
shores  of  dandelions  that  scattered  their  lavish  gold  to 
the  foot  of  the  hills,  where  the  green  billows  of  wild  oats 
carried  it  on  and  upwards  to  the  darker  crests  of  pines. 
For  two  months  she  was  dazzled  and  bewildered  with 
color.  She  had  never  before  been  face  to  face  with  this 
spendthrift  Calif ornian  Flora,  in  her  virgin  wastefulness, 
her  more  than  goddess-like  prodigality.  The  teeming 
earth  seemed  to  quicken  and  throb  beneath  her  feet ;  the 


318  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

few  circuits  of  a  plow  around  the  outlying  corral  were 
enough  to  call  out  a  jungle  growth  of  giant  grain  that  al 
most  hid  the  low  walls  of  the  hacienda.  In  this  glorious 
fecundity  of  the  earth,  in  this  joyous  renewal  of  life  and 
color,  in  this  opulent  youth  and  freshness  of  soil  and  sky, 
it  alone  remained,  the  dead  and  sterile  Past,  left  in  the 
midst  of  buoyant  rejuvenescence  and  resurrection,  like  an 
empty  churchyard  skull  upturned  on  the  springing  turf. 
Its  bronzed  adobe  walls  mocked  the  green  vine  that  em 
braced  them,  the  crumbling  dust  of  its  courtyard  re 
mained  ungerminating  and  unfruitful ;  to  the  thousand 
stirring  voices  without,  its  dry  lips  alone  remained  mute, 
unresponsive,  and  unchanged. 

During  this  time  Don  Jose  had  become  a  frequent  vis 
itor  at  Los  Cuervos,  bringing  with  him  at  first  his  niece 
and  sister  in  a  stately  precision  of  politeness  that  was  not 
lost  on  the  proud  Blue  Grass  stranger.  She  returned 
their  visit  at  Los  Gatos,  and  there  made  the  formal  ac 
quaintance  of  Don  Jose's  grandmother,  a  lady  who  still 
regarded  the  decrepit  Concha  as  a  giddy  muchacha,  and 
who  herself  glittered  as  with  the  phosphorescence  of  re 
fined  decay.  Through  this  circumstance  she  learned  that 
Don  Jose  was  not  yet  fifty,  and  that  his  gravity  of  man 
ner  and  sedateness  was  more  the  result  of  fastidious  iso 
lation  and  temperament  than  years.  She  could  not  tell 
why  the  information  gave  her  a  feeling  of  annoyance,  but 
it  caused  her  to  regret  the  absence  of  Poindexter,  and  to 
wonder,  also  somewhat  nervously,  why  he  had  lately 
avoided  her  presence.  The  thought  that  he  might  be 
doing  so  from  a  recollection  of  the  innuendoes  of  Mrs. 
Patterson  caused  a  little  tremor  of  indignation  in  her 
pulses.  "  As  if  "  —  but  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence 
even  to  herself,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  bitter  tears. 

Yet  she  had  thought  of  the  husband  who  had  so  cruelly 
wronged  her  less  feverishly,  less  impatiently  than  before. 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  319 

For  she  thought  she  loved  him  now  the  more  deeply,  be 
cause,  although  she  was  not  reconciled  to  his  absence,  it 
seemed  to  keep  alive  the  memory  of  what  he  had  been 
before  his  one  wild  act  separated  them.  She  had  never 
seen  the  reflection  of  another  woman's  eyes  in  his  ;  the 
past  contained  no  haunting  recollection  of  waning  or 
alienated  affection  ;  she  could  meet  him  again,  and,  clasp 
ing  her  arms  around  him,  awaken  as  if  from  a  troubled 
dream  without  reproach  or  explanation.  Her  strong  be 
lief  in  this  made  her  patient ;  she  no  longer  sought  to 
know  the  particulars  of  his  flight,  and  never  dreamed  that 
her  passive  submission  to  his  absence  was  partly  due  to  a 
fear  that  something  in  his  actual  presence  at  that  moment 
would  have  destroyed  that  belief  forever. 

For  this  reason  the  delicate  reticence  of  the  people  at 
Los  Gatos,  and  their  seclusion  from  the  world  which  knew 
of  her  husband's  fault,  had  made  her  encourage  the  visits 
of  Don  Jose,  until  from  the  instinct  already  alluded  to 
she  one  day  summoned  Poindexter  to  Los  Cuervos,  on 
the  day  that  Don  Jose  usually  called.  But  to  her  surprise 
the  two  men  met  more  or  less  awkwardly  and  coldly,  and 
her  tact  as  hostess  was  tried  to  the  utmost  to  keep  their 
evident  antagonism  from  being  too  apparent.  The  effort 
to  reconcile  their  mutual  discontent,  and  some  other  feel 
ing  she  did  not  quite  understand,  produced  a  nervous  ex 
citement  which  called  the  blood  to  her  cheek  and  gave  a 
dangerous  brilliancy  to  her  eyes,  two  circumstances  not 
unnoticed  nor  unappreciated  by  her  two  guests.  But  in 
stead  of  reuniting  them,  the  prettier  Mrs.  Tucker  became, 
the  more  distant  and  reserved  grew  the  men,  until  Don 
Jose  rose  before  his  usual  hour,  and  with  more  than  usual 
ceremoniousness  departed. 

"  Then  my  business  does  not  seem  to  be  with  him  ?  " 
said  Poindexter,  with  quiet  coolness,  as  Mrs.  Tucker 
turned  her  somewhat  mystified  face  towards  him.  "  Or 
have  you  anything  to  say  to  me  about  him  in  private  ?  " 


320  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  both  mean,"  she  re 
turned  with  a  slight  tremor  of  voice.  "  I  had  no  idea 
you  were  not  on  goo&  terms.  I  thought  you  were  !  It 's 
very  awkward."  Without  coquetry  and  unconsciously  she 
raised  her  blue  eyes  under  her  lids  until  the  clear  pupils 
coyly  and  softly  hid  themselves  in  the  corners  of  the 
brown  lashes,  and  added,  "  You  have  both  been  so  kind 
to  me." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason,"  said  Poindexter,  gravely. 
But  Mrs.  Tucker  refused  to  accept  the  suggestion  with 
equal  gravity,  and  began  to  laugh.  The  laugh,  which  was 
at  first  frank,  spontaneous,  and  almost  child-like,  was  be 
coming  hysterical  and  nervous  as  she  went  on,  until  it 
was  suddenly  checked  by  Poindexter. 

"  I  have  had  no  difficulties  with  Don  Jose  Santierra," 
he  said,  somewhat  coldly  ignoring  her  hilarity,  "  but  per 
haps  he  is  not  inclined  to  be  as  polite  to  the  friend  of  the 
husband  as  he  is  to  the  wife." 

"  Mr.  Poindexter  !  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker  quickly,  her  face 
becoming  pale  again. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  said  Poindexter,  flushing ; 
"but"  — 

"  You  want  to  say,"  she  interrupted  coolly,  "  that  you 
are  not  friends,  I  see.  Is  that  the  reason  why  you  have 
avoided  this  house  ?  "  she  continued  gently. 

"  I  thought  I  could  be  of  more  service  to  you  else 
where,"  he  replied  evasively.  "  I  have  been  lately  follow 
ing  up  a  certain  clue  rather  closely.  I  think  I  am  on  the 
track  of  a  confidante  of  —  of  —  that  woman." 

A  quick  shadow  passed  over  Mrs.  Tucker's  face.  "  In 
deed  !  "  she  said  coldly.  "  Then  I  am  to  believe  that  you 
prefer  to  spend  your  leisure  moments  in  looking  after 
that  creature  to  calling  here  ? " 

Poindexter  was  stupefied.  Was  this  the  woman  who 
only  four  months  ago  was  almost  vindictively  eager  to 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  321 

pursue  her  husband's  paramour !  There  could  be  but 
one  answer  to  it —  Don  Jose  !  Four  months  ago  he  would 
have  smiled  compassionately  at  it  from  his  cynical  pre 
eminence.  Now  he  managed  with  difficulty  to  stifle  the 
bitterness  of  his  reply. 

"  If  you  do  not  wish  the  inquiry  carried  on,"  he  began, 
"  of  course  "  — 

"  I  ?  What  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  "  she  said  coolly. 
"  Do  as  you  please." 

Nevertheless,  half  an  hour  later,  as  he  was  leaving,  she 
said,  with  a  certain  hesitating  timidity,  "  Do  not  leave  me 
so  much  alone  here,  and  let  that  woman  go." 

This  was  not  the  only  unlooked-for  sequel  to  her  inno 
cent  desire  to  propitiate  her  best  friends.  Don  Jose  did 
not  call  again  upon  his  usual  day,  but  in  his  place  came 
Dona  Clara,  his  younger  sister.  When  Mrs.  Tucker  had 
politely  asked  after  the  absent  Don  Jose,  Dona  Clara 
wound  her  swarthy  arms  around  the  fair  American's  waist 
and  replied,  "  But  why  did  you  send  for  the  abogado  Pom- 
dexter  when  my  brother  called  ?  " 

"  But  Captain  Poindexter  calls  as  one  of  my  friends," 
said  the  amazed  Mrs.  Tucker.  "  He  is  a  gentleman,  and 
has  been  a  soldier  and  an  officer,"  she  added  with  some 
warmth. 

"  Ah,  yes,  a  soldier  of  the  law,  what  you  call  an  oflcial  de 
policia,  a  chief  of  gendarmes,  my  sister,  but  not  a  gentle 
man —  a  camarero  to  protect  a  lady." 

Mrs.  Tucker  would  have  uttered  a  hasty  reply,  but  the 
perfect  and  good-natured  simplicity  of  Dona  Clara  with 
held  her.  Nevertheless,  she  treated  Don  Jose  with  a 
certain  reserve  at  their  next  meeting,  until  it  brought  the 
simple-minded  Castilian  so  dangerously  near  the  point  of 
demanding  an  explanation  which  implied  too  much  that 
she  was  obliged  to  restore  him  temporarily  to  his  old 
footing.  Meantime  she  had  a  brilliant  idea.  She  would 


322  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

write  to  Calhoun  Weaver,  whom  she  had  avoided  since 
that  memorable  day.  She  would  say  she  wished  to  con 
sult  him.  He  would  come  to  Los  Cuervos ;  he  might 
suggest  something  to  lighten  this  weary  waiting  ;  at  least 
she  would  show  them  all  that  she  had  still  old  friends. 
Yet  she  did  not  dream  of  returning  to  her  Blue  Grass 
home  ;  her  parents  had  died  since  she  left ;  she  shrank 
from  the  thought  of  dragging  her  ruined  life  before  the 
hopeful  youth  of  her  girlhood's  companions. 

Mr.  Calhoun  Weaver  arrived  promptly,  ostentatiously, 
oracularly,  and  cordially,  but  a  little  coarsely.  He  had 
—  did  she  remember  ?  —  expected  this  from  the  first. 
Spencer  had  lost  his  head  through  vanity,  and  had  at 
tempted  too  much.  It  required  foresight  and  firmness, 
as  he  himself  —  who  had  lately  made  successful  "  combi 
nations  "  which  she  might  perhaps  have  heard  of  —  well 
knew.  But  Spencer  had  got  the  "big  head."  "As  to 
that  woman  —  a  devilish  handsome  woman  too!  —  well, 
everybody  knew  that  Spencer  always  had  a  weakness 
that  way,  and  he  would  say  —  but  if  she  did  n't  care  to 
hear  any  more  about  her  —  well,  perhaps  she  was  right. 
That  was  the  best  way  to  take  it."  Sitting  before  her, 
prosperous,  weak,  egotistical,  incompetent,  unavailable, 
and  yet  filled  with  a  vague  kindliness  of  intent,  Mrs. 
Tucker  loathed  him.  A  sickening  perception  of  her  own 
weakness  in  sending  for  him,  a  new  and  aching  sense  of 
her  utter  isolation  and  helplessness,  seemed  to  para 
lyze  her. 

"  Nat'rally  you  feel  bad,"  he  continued,  with  the  large 
air  of  a  profound  student  of  human  nature.  "  Nat'rally, 
nat'rally  you  're  kept  in  an  uncomfortable  state,  not  know 
ing  jist  how  you  stand.  There  ain't  but  one  thing  to  do. 
Jist  rise  up,  quiet  like,  and  get  a  divorce  agin  Spencer. 
Hold  on  !  There  ain't  a  judge  or  jury  in  California  that 
would  n't  give  it  to  you  right  off  the  nail,  without  asking 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  323 

questions.  Why,  you  'd  get  it  by  default  if  you  wanted 
to  ;  you  'd  just  have  to  walk  over  the  course  !  And  then, 
Belle,"  he  drew  his  chair  still  nearer  her,  "  when  you  Ve 
settled  down  again  —  well !  —  I  don't  mind  renewing  that 
offer  I  once  made  ye,  before  Spencer  ever  came  round  ye 
—  I  don't  mind,  Belle,  I  swear  I  don't !  Honest  Injin  ! 
I  Jm  in  earnest,  there  's  my  hand." 

Mrs.  Tucker's  reply  has  not  been  recorded.  Enough 
that  half  an  hour  later  Mr.  Weaver  appeared  in  the  court 
yard  with  traces  of  tears  on  his  foolish  face,  a  broken 
falsetto  voice,  and  other  evidence  of  mental  and  moral 
disturbance.  His  cordiality  and  oracular  predisposition 
remained  sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  suggest  the  magi 
cal  words  "  Blue  Grass  "  mysteriously  to  Concha,  with  an 
indication  of  his  hand  to  the  erect  figure  of  her  pale 
mistress  in  the  doorway,  who  waved  to  him  a  silent  but 
half  compassionate  farewell. 

At  about  this  time  a  slight  change  in  her  manner  was 
noticed  by  the  few  who  saw  her  more  frequently.  Her 
apparently  invincible  girlishness  of  spirit  had  given  way 
to  a  certain  matronly  seriousness.  She  applied  herself 
to  her  household  cares  and  the  improvement  of  the 
hacienda  with  a  new  sense  of  duty  and  a  settled  earnest 
ness,  until  by  degrees  she  wrought  into  it  not  only  her 
instinctive  delicacy  and  taste,  but  part  of  her  own  indi 
viduality.  Even  the  rude  rancheros  and  tradesmen  who 
were  permitted  to  enter  the  walls  in  the  exercise  of  their 
calling  began  to  speak  mysteriously  of  the  beauty  of  this 
garden  of  the  almarjal.  She  went  out  but  seldom,  and 
then  accompanied  by  one  or  the  other  of  her  female  ser 
vants,  in  long  drives  on  unfrequented  roads.  On  Sun 
days  she  sometimes  drove  to  the  half  ruined  mission 
church  of  Santa  Inez,  and  hid  herself,  during  mass,  in 
the  dim  monastic  shadows  of  the  choir.  Gradually  the 
poorer  people  whom  she  met  in  these  journeys  began  to 


324  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

show  an  almost  devotional  reverence  for  her,  stopping  in 
the  roads  with  uncovered  heads  for  her  to  pass,  or  making 
way  for  her  in  the  tienda  or  plaza  of  the  wretched  town 
with  dumb  courtesy.  She  began  to  feel  a  strange  sense 
of  widowhood,  that,  while  it  at  times  brought  tears  to  her 
eyes,  was  not  without  a  certain  tender  solace.  In  the 
sympathy  and  simpleness  of  this  impulse  she  went  as  far 
as  to  revive  the  mourning  she  had  worn  for  her  parents, 
but  with  such  a  fatal  accenting  of  her  beauty,  and  dan 
gerous  misinterpreting  of  her  condition  to  eligible  bach 
elors  strange  to  the  country,  that  she  was  obliged  to  put 
it  off  again.  Her  reserved  and  dignified  manner  caused 
others  to  mistake  her  nationality  for  that  of  the  Santier- 
ras,  and  in  "  Dona  Bella  "  the  simple  Mrs.  Tucker  was 
for  a  while  forgotten.  At  times  she  even  forgot  it  her 
self.  Accustomed  now  almost  entirely  to  the  accents  of 
another  language  and  the  features  of  another  race,  she 
would  sit  for  hours  in  the  corridor,  whose  massive  bronzed 
enclosure  even  her  tasteful  care  could  only  make  an 
embowered  mausoleum  of  the  Past,  or  gaze  abstractedly 
from  the  dark  embrasures  of  her  windows  across  the 
stretching  almarjal  to  the  shining  lagoon  beyond  that 
terminated  the  estuary.  She  had  a  strange  fondness  for 
this  tranquil  mirror,  which  under  sun  or  stars  always 
retained  the  passive  reflex  of  the  sky  above,  and  seemed 
to  rest  her  weary  eyes.  She  had  objected  to  one  of  the 
plans  projected  by  Poindexter  to  redeem  the  land  and 
deepen  the  water  at  the  embarcadero,  as  it  would  have 
drained  the  lagoon,  and  the  lawyer  had  postponed  the 
improvement  to  gratify  her  fancy.  So  she  kept  it  through 
the  long  summer  unchanged  save  by  the  shadows  of 
passing  wings  or  the  lazy  files  of  sleeping  sea-fowl. 

On  one  of  these  afternoons  she  noticed  a  slowly  moving 
carriage  leave  the  highroad  and  cross  the  almarjal  skirt 
ing  the  edge  of  the  lagoon.  If  it  contained  visitors  for 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  325 

Los  Cuervos  they  had  evidently  taken  a  shorter  cut  with 
out  waiting  to  go  on  to  the  regular  road  which  intersected 
the  highway  at  right  angles  a  mile  farther  on.  It  was 
with  some  sense  of  annoyance  and  irritation  that  she 
watched  the  trespass,  and  finally  saw  the  vehicle  approach 
the  house.  A  few  moments  later  the  servant  informed 
her  that  Mr.  Patterson  would  like  to  see  her  alone. 
When  she  entered  the  corridor,  which  in  the  dry  season 
served  as  a  reception  hall,  she  was  surprised  to  see  that 
Patterson  was  not  alone.  Near  him  stood  a  well-dressed 
handsome  woman,  gazing  about  her  with  good-humored 
admiration  of  Mrs.  Tucker's  taste  and  ingenuity. 

"  It  don't  look  much  like  it  did  two  years  ago,"  said 
the  stranger  cheerfully.  "  You  've  improved  it  wonder 
fully." 

Stiffening  slightly,  Mrs.  Tucker  turned  inquiringly  to 
Mr.  Patterson.  But  that  gentleman's  usual  profound 
melancholy  appeared  to  be  intensified  by  the  hilarity  of 
his  companion.  He  only  sighed  deeply  and  rubbed  his 
leg  with  the  brim  of  his  hat  in  gloomy  abstraction. 

"  Well !  go  on,  then,"  said  the  woman,  laughing  and 
nudging  him.  "  Go  on  —  introduce  me  —  can't  you  ? 
Don't  stand  there  like  a  tombstone.  You  won't?  Well, 
I'll  introduce  myself."  She  laughed  again,  and  then, 
with  an  excellent  imitation  of  Patterson's  lugubrious  ac 
cents,  said,  "  Mr.  Spencer  Tucker's  wife  that  is,  allow  me 
to  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Spencer  Tucker's  sweetheart  that 
was  !  Hold  on  !  I  said  that  was.  For  true  as  I  stand 
here,  ma'am  —  and  I  reckon  I  would  n't  stand  here  if  it 
was  n't  true  —  I  have  n't  set  eyes  on  him  since  the  day  he 
left  you." 

"  It 's  the  gospel  truth,  every  word,"  said  Patterson, 
stirred  into  a  sudden  activity  by  Mrs.  Tucker's  white  and 
rigid  face.  "  It 's  the  frozen  truth,  and  I  kin  prove  it. 
For  I  kin  swear  that  when  that  there  young  woman  was 


326  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

sailin'  outer  the  Golden  Gate,  Spencer  Tucker  was  in 
my  bar-room  ;  I  kin  swear  that  I  fed  him,  lickered  him, 
give  him  a  hoss  and  set  him  in  his  road  to  Monterey  that 
very  night." 

"  Then,  where  is  he  now  ? "  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  suddenly 
facing  them. 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  looked  at  Mrs. 
Tucker.  Then  both  together  replied  slowly  and  in  per 
fect  unison,  "  That 's  —  what  —  we  —  want  —  to  —  know." 
They  seemed  so  satisfied  with  this  effect  that  they  as  delib 
erately  repeated,  "  Yes  —  that 's  —  what  —  we  —  want  — 
to  —  know." 

Between  the  shock  of  meeting  the  partner  of  her  hus 
band's  guilt  and  the  unexpected  revelation  to  her  inex 
perience,  that  in  suggestion  and  appearance  there  was 
nothing  beyond  the  recollection  of  that  guilt  that  was 
really  shocking  in  the  woman  —  between  the  extravagant 
extremes  of  hope  and  fear  suggested  by  their  words,  there 
was  something  so  grotesquely  absurd  in  the  melodramatic 
chorus  that  she  with  difficulty  suppressed  an  hysterical 
laugh. 

"That's  the  way  to  take  it,"  said  the  woman,  putting 
her  own  good-humored  interpretation  upon  Mrs.  Tucker's 
expression.  "  Now,  look  here  !  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it." 
She  carefully  selected  the  most  comfortable  chair,  and 
sitting  down,  lightly  crossed  her  hands  in  her  lap.  "  Well, 
I  left  here  on  the  i3th  of  last  January  on  the  ship  Argo? 
calculating  that  your  husband  would  join  the  ship  just  in 
side  the  Heads.  That  was  our  arrangement,  but  if  any 
thing  happened  to  prevent  him,  he  was  to  join  me  at 
Acapulco.  Well  !  he  did  n't  come  aboard,  and  we  sailed 
without  him.  But  it  appears  now  he  did  attempt  to  join 
the  ship,  but  his  boat  was  capsized.  There  now,  don't 
be  alarmed !  he  was  n't  drowned,  as  Patterson  can  swear 
to  —  no,  catch  him  !  not  a  hair  of  him  was  hurt.  But  /  — 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  327 

/  was  bundled  off  to  the  end  of  the  earth  in  Mexico 
alone,  without  a  cent  to  bless  me.  For  true  as  you  live, 
that  hound  of  a  captain,  when  he  found,  as  he  thought, 
that  Spencer  was  nabbed,  he  just  confiscated  all  his 
trunks  and  valuables  and  left  me  in  the  lurch.  If  I  had 
not  met  a  man  down  there  that  offered  to  marry  me  and 
brought  me  here,  I  might  have  died  there,  I  reckon.  But 
I  did,  and  here  I  am.  I  went  down  there  as  your  hus 
band's  sweetheart,  I  've  come  back  as  the  wife  of  an 
honest  man,  and  I  reckon  it 's  about  square  !  " 

There  was  something  so  startlingly  frank,  so  hopelessly 
self-satisfied,  so  contagiously  good-humored  in  the -wo 
man's  perfect  moral  unconsciousness,  that  even  if  Mrs. 
Tucker  had  been  less  preoccupied  her  resentment  would 
have  abated.  But  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  gloomy 
face  of  Patterson,  who  was  beginning  to  unlock  the  sep- 
ulchers  of  his  memory  and  disinter  his  deeply  buried 
thoughts. 

"  You  kin  bet  your  whole  pile  on  what  this  Mrs.  Cap- 
ting  Baxter  —  ez  used  to  be  French  Inez  of  New  Orleans 
—  hez  told  ye.  Ye  kin  take  everything  she's  onloaded. 
And  it 's  only  doin'  the  square  thing  to  her  to  say,  she 
hain't  done  it  out  o'  no  cussedness,  but  just  to  satisfy 
herself,  now  she  's  a  married  woman  and  past  such  fool 
ishness.  But  that  ain't  neither  here  nor  there.  The  gist 
of  the  whole  matter  is  that  Spencer  Tucker  was  at  the 
tienda  the  day  after  she  sailed  and  after  his  boat  capsized." 
He  then  gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  interview,  with 
the  unnecessary  but  truthful  minutiae  of  his  class,  adding 
to  the  particulars  already  known  that  the  following  week 
he  visited  the  Summit  House  and  was  surprised  to  find 
that  Spencer  had  never  been  there,  nor  had  he  ever  sailed 
from  Monterey. 

"  But  why  was  this  not  told  to  me  before  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Tucker,  suddenly.  "  Why  not  at  the  time  ?  Why,"  she 


328  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

demanded  almost  fiercely,  turning  from  the  one  to  the 
other,  "  has  this  been  kept  from  me  ?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  ye  why,"  said  Patterson,  sinking  with  crushed 
submission  into  a  chair.  "  When  I  found  he  was  n't 
where  he  ought  to  be,  I  got  to  lookin'  elsewhere.  I  knew 
the  track  of  the  hoss  I  lent  him  by  a  loose  shoe.  I  ex 
amined,  and  found  he  had  turned  off  the  highroad  some;/ 
where  beyond  the  lagoon,  jist  as  if  he  was  makin'  a  bee 
line  here." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker  breathlessly. 

"  Well,"  said  Patterson,  with  the  resigned  tone  of  an 
accustomed  martyr,  "  mebbe  I  'm  a  God-forsaken  idiot, 
but  I  reckon  he  did  come  yer.  And  mebbe  I  'm  that 
much  of  a  habitooal  lunatic,  but  thinking  so,  I  calkilated 
you  'd  know  it  without  tellin'." 

With  their  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  Mrs.  Tucker  felt  the 
quick  blood  rush  to  her  cheeks,  although  she  knew  not 
why.  But  they  were  apparently  satisfied  with  her  igno 
rance,  for  Patterson  resumed,  yet  more  gloomily  : 

"  Then  if  he  was  n't  hidin'  here  beknownst  to  you,  he 
must  have  changed  his  mind  agin  and  got  away  by  the 
embarcadero.  The  only  thing  wantin'  to  prove  that  idea 
is  to  know  how  he  got  a  boat,  and  what  he  did  with  the 
hoss.  And  thar  's  one  more  idea,  and  ez  that  can't  be 
proved,"  continued  Patterson,  sinking  his  voice  still 
lower,  "  mebbe  it 's  accordin'  to  God's  laws." 

Unsympathetic  to  her  as  the  speaker  had  always  been 
and  still  was,  Mrs.  Tucker  felt  a  vague  chill  creep  over 
her  that  seemed  to  be  the  result  of  his  manner  more  than 
his  words.  "And  that  idea  is  — ?  "  she  suggested  with 
pale  lips. 

"  It 's  this  !  Fust,  I  don't  say  it  means  much  to  any 
body  but  me.  I  Ve  heard  of  these  warnings  afore  now, 
ez  comin'  only  to  folks  ez  hear  them  for  themselves  alone, 
and  I  reckon  I  kin  stand  it,  if  it 's  the  will  o'  God.  The 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  329 

idea  is  then  —  that  —  Spencer  Tucker  —  was  drownded  in 
that  boat ;  the  idea  is  "  —  his  voice  was  almost  lost  in  a 
hoarse  whisper  —  "  that  it  was  no  living  man  that  kem 
to  me  that  night,  but  a  spirit  that  kem  out  of  the  dark 
ness  and  went  back  into  it !  No  eye  saw  him  but  mine 
—  no  ears  heard  him  but  mine.  I  reckon  it  were  n't  in 
tended  it  should."  He  paused,  and  passed  the  flap  of 
his  hat  across  his  eyes.  "  The  pie,  you  '11  say,  is  agin  it," 
he  continued  in  the  same  tone  of  voice,  —  "  the  whiskey 
is  agin  it  —  a  few  cuss  words  that  dropped  from  him,  ac 
cidental  like,  may  have  been  agin  it.  All  the  same  they 
mout  have  been  only  the  little  signs  and  tokens  that  it 
was  him." 

But  Mrs.  Baxter's  ready  laugh  somewhat  rudely  dis 
pelled  the  infection  of  Patterson's  gloom.  "  I  reckon 
the  only  spirit  was  that  which  you  and  Spencer  con 
sumed,"  she  said,  cheerfully.  "I  don't  wonder  you're 
a  little  mixed.  Like  as  not  you  've  misunderstood  his 
plans." 

Patterson  shook  his  head.  "  He  '11  turn  up  yet,  alive 
and  kicking !  Like  as  not,  then,  Poindexter  knows  where 
he  is  all  the  time." 

"  Impossible  !  He  would  have  told  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Tucker,  quickly. 

Mrs.  Baxter  looked  at  Patterson  without  speaking. 
Patterson  replied  by  a  long  lugubrious  whistle. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  drawing 
back  with  cold  dignity. 

"  You  don't  ?  "  returned  Mrs.  Baxter.  "  Bless  your  in 
nocent  heart !  Why  was  he  so  keen  to  hunt  me  up  at 
first,  shadowing  my  friends  and  all  that,  and  why  has  he 
dropped  it  now  he  knows  I  'm  here,  if  he  did  n't  know 
where  Spencer  was  ? " 

"  I  can  explain  that,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Tucker,  hastily, 
with  a  blush  of  confusion.  "  That  is  —  I  "  — 


330  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

"  Then  mebbe  you  kin  explain  too,"  broke  in  Patterson 
with  gloomy  significance,  "  why  he  has  bought  up  most 
of  Spencer's  debts  himself,  and  perhaps  you  're  satisfied 
it  isfft  to  hold  the  whip  hand  of  him  and  keep  him  from 
coming  back  openly.  Pr'aps  you  know  why  he  's  movin' 
heaven  and  earth  to  make  Don  Jose  Santierra  sell  the 
ranch,  and  why  the  Don  don't  see  it  all." 

"  Don  Jose  sell  Los  Cuervos  !  Buy  it,  you  mean  ? " 
said  Mrs.  Tucker.  "  /offered  to  sell  it  to  him." 

Patterson  arose  from  the  chair,  looked  despairingly 
around  him,  passed  his  hand  sadly  across  his  forehead, 
and  said  :  "  It 's  come  !  I  knew  it  would.  It 's  the  warn 
ing!  It 's  suthing  betwixt  jim-jams  and  doddering  idjiocy. 
Here  I  'd  hev  been  willin'  to  swear  that  Mrs.  Baxter  here 
told  me  she  had  sold  this  yer  ranch  nearly  two  years  ago 
to  Don  Jose,  and  now  you  "  — 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  in  a  voice  that  chilled 
them. 

She  was  standing  upright  and  rigid,  as  if  stricken  to 
stone.  "  I  command  you  to  tell  me  what  this  means  !  " 
she  said,  turning  only  her  blazing  eyes  upon  the  woman. 

Even  the  ready  smile  faded  from  Mrs.  Baxter's  lips 
as  she  replied  hesitatingly  and  submissively  :  "  I  thought 
you  knew  already  that  Spencer  had  given  this  ranch  to 
me.  I  sold  it  to  Don  Jose  to  get  the  money  for  us  to  go 
away  with.  It  was  Spencer's  idea  "  — 

"You  lie  !  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  The  wrathful  blood  that 
had  quickly  mounted  to  Mrs.  Baxter's  cheek,  to  Patter 
son's  additional  bewilderment,  faded  as  quickly.  She 
did  not  lift  her  eyes  again  to  Mrs.  Tucker's,  but,  slowly 
raising  herself  from  her  seat,  said,  "  I  wish  to  God  I  did 
lie  ;  but  it 's  true.  And  it 's  true  that  I  never  touched  a 
cent  of  the  money,  but  gave  it  all  to  him  !  "  She  laid  her 
hand  on  Patterson's  arm,  and  said,  "  Come !  let  us  go," 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  331 

and  led  him  a  few  steps  toward  the  gateway.  But  here 
Patterson  paused,  and  again  passed  his  hand  over  his 
melancholy  brow.  The  necessity  of  coherently  and  logi 
cally  closing  the  conversation  impressed  itself  upon  his 
darkening  mind.  "  Then  you  don't  happen  to  have  heard 
anything  of  Spencer  ? "  he  said  sadly,  and  vanished  with 
Mrs.  Baxter  through  the  gate. 

Left  alone  to  herself,  Mrs.  Tucker  raised  her  hands 
above  her  head  with  a  little  cry,  interlocked  her  rigid 
fingers,  and  slowly  brought  her  palms  down  upon  her  up 
turned  face  and  eyes,  pressing  hard  as  if  to  crush  out  all 
light  and  sense  of  life  before  her.  She  stood  thus  for  a 
moment  motionless  and  silent,  with  the  rising  wind  whis 
pering  without  and  flecking  her  white  morning  dress  with 
gusty  shadows  from  the  arbor.  Then,  with  closed  eyes, 
dropping  her  hands  to  her  breast,  still  pressing  hard,  she 
slowly  passed  them  down  the  shapely  contours  of  her 
figure  to  the  waist,  and  with  another  cry  cast  them  off  as 
if  she  were  stripping  herself  of  some  loathsome  garment. 
Then  she  walked  quickly  to  the  gateway,  looked  out,  re 
turned  to  the  corridor,  unloosening  and  taking  off  her 
wedding-ring  from  her  finger  as  she  walked.  Here  she 
paused,  then  slowly  and  deliberately  rearranged  the  chairs 
and  adjusted  the  gay-colored  rugs  that  draped  them,  and 
quietly  reentered  her  chamber. 

Two  days  afterwards  the  sweating  steed  of  Captain 
Poindexter  was  turned  loose  in  the  corral,  and  a  moment 
later  the  captain  entered  the  corridor.  Handing  a  letter 
to  the  decrepit  Concha,  who  seemed  to  be  utterly  dis 
organized  by  its  contents  and  the  few  curt  words  with 
which  it  was  delivered,  he  gazed  silently  upon  the  vacant 
bower,  still  fresh  and  redolent  with  the  delicacy  and  per 
fume  of  its  graceful  occupant,  until  his  dark  eyes  filled 
with  unaccustomed  moisture.  But  his  reverie  was  inter- 


332  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

rupted  by  the  sound  of  jingling  spurs  without,  and  the 
old  humor  struggled  back  into  his  eyes  as  Don  Jose  im 
petuously  entered.  The  Spaniard  started  back,  but  in 
stantly  recovered  himself. 

"  So,  I  find  you  here.  Ah  !  it  is  well !  "  he  said  pas 
sionately,  producing  a  letter  from  his  bosom.  "  Look ! 
Do  you  call  this  honor  ?  Look  how  you  keep  your  com 
pact  ! " 

Poindexter  coolly  took  the  letter.  It  contained  a  few 
words  of  gentle  dignity  from  Mrs.  Tucker,  informing  Don 
Jose  that  she  had  only  that  instant  learned  of  his  just 
claims  upon  Los  Cuervos,  tendering  him  her  gratitude 
for  his  delicate  intentions,  but  pointing  out  with  respect 
ful  firmness  that  he  must  know  that  a  moment's  further 
acceptance  of  his  courtesy  was  impossible. 

"  She  has  gained  this  knowledge  from  no  word  of 
mine,"  said  Poindexter,  calmly.  "  Right  or  wrong,  I 
have  kept  my  promise  to  you.  I  have  as  much  reason 
to  accuse  you  of  betraying  my  secret  in  this,"  he  added 
coldly,  as  he  took  another  letter  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Don  Jose. 

It  seemed  briefer  and  colder,  but  was  neither.  It  re 
minded  Poindexter  that  as  he  had  again  deceived  her  she 
must  take  the  government  of  her  affairs  in  her  own  hands 
henceforth.  She  abandoned  all  the  furniture  and  im 
provements  she  had  put  in  Los  Cuervos  to  him,  to  whom 
she  now  knew  she  was  indebted  for  them.  She  could  not 
thank  him  for  what  his  habitual  generosity  impelled  him 
to  do  for  any  woman,  but  she  could  forgive  him  for  mis 
understanding  her  like  any  other  woman,  perhaps  she 
should  say,  like  a  child.  When  he  received  this  she 
would  be  already  on  her  way  to  her  old  home  in  Ken 
tucky,  where  she  still  hoped  to  be  able  by  her  own  efforts 
to  amass  enough  to  discharge  her  obligations  to  him. 

"  She  does  not  speak  of  her  husband,  this  woman," 


A  Blue  Grass  Penelope.  333 

said  Don  Jose,  scanning  Pomdexter's  face.  "  It  is  pos 
sible  she  rejoins  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  in  one  way  she  has  never  left  him,  Don 
Jose,"  said  Poindexter,  with  grave  significance. 

Don  Jose's  face  flushed,  but  he  returned  carelessly, 
"  And  the  rancho,  naturally  you  will  not  buy  it  now  ?  " 

"On  the  contrary,  I  shall  abide  by  my  offer,"  said 
Poindexter,  quietly. 

Don  Jose  eyed  him  narrowly,  and  then  said,  "  Ah,  we 
shall  consider  of  it." 

He  did  consider  it,  and  accepted  the  offer.  With  the 
full  control  of  the  land,  Captain  Poindexter's  improve 
ments,  so  indefinitely  postponed,  were  actively  pushed 
forward.  The  thick  walls  of  the  hacienda  were  the  first 
to  melt  away  before  them  j  the  low  lines  of  corral  were 
effaced,  a'nd  the  early  breath  of  the  summer  trade  winds 
swept  uninterruptedly  across  the  now  leveled  plain  to  the 
embarcadero,  where  a  newer  structure  arose.  A  more 
vivid  green  alone  marked  the  spot  where  the  crumbling 
adobe  walls  of  the  casa  had  returned  to  the  parent  soil 
that  gave  it.  The  channel  was  deepened,  the  lagoon 
was  drained,  until  one  evening  the  magic  mirror  that  had 
so  long  reflected  the  weary  waiting  of  the  Blue  Grass 
Penelope  lay  dull,  dead,  lusterless,  an  opaque  quagmire 
of  noisome  corruption  and  decay  to  be  put  away  from  the 
sight  of  man  forever.  On  this  spot  the  crows,  the  titular 
tenants  of  Los  Cuervos,  assembled  in  tumultuous  con 
gress,  coming  and  going  in  mysterious  clouds,  or  laboring 
in  thick  and  writhing  masses,  as  if  they  were  continuing 
the  work  of  improvement  begun  by  human  agency.  So 
well  had  they  done  the  work  that  by  the  end  of  a  week 
only  a  few  scattered  white  objects  remained  glittering  on 
the  surface  of  the  quickly  drying  soil.  But  they  were  the 
bones  of  the  missing  outcast,  Spencer  Tucker ! 


334  A  Blue  Grass  Penelope. 

The  same  spring  a  breatn  of  war  swept  over  a  foul, 
decaying  quagmire  of  the  whole  land,  before  which  such 
passing  deeds  as  these  were  blown  as  vapor.  It  called 
men  of  all  rank  and  condition  to  battle  for  a  nation's 
life,  and  among  the  first  to  respond  were  those  into 
whose  boyish  hands  had  been  placed  the  nation's  honor. 
It  returned  the  epaulets  to  Poindexter's  shoulder  with 
the  addition  of  a  double  star,  carried  him  triumphantly  to 
the  front,  and  left  him,  at  the  end  of  a  summer's  day  and 
a  hard-won  fight,  sorely  wounded,  at  the  door  of  a  Blue 
Grass  farmhouse.  And  the  woman  who  sought  him  out 
and  ministered  to  his  wants  said  timidly,  as  she  left  her 
hand  in  his,  "  I  told  you  I  should  live  to  repay  you." 


Heft  ®ut  on  lone  ^>tat  ^lountain. 


i. 

THERE  was  little  doubt  that  the  Lone  Star  claim  was 
"  played  out."  Not  dug  out,  worked  out,  washed  out,  but 
played  out.  For  two  years  its  five  sanguine  proprietors 
had  gone  through  the  various  stages  of  mining  enthusi 
asm  ;  had  prospected  and  planned,  dug  and  doubted. 
They  had  borrowed  money  with  hearty  but  unredeeming 
frankness,  established  a  credit  with  unselfish  abnegation 
of  all  responsibility,  and  had  borne  the  disappointment 
of  their  creditors  with  a  cheerful  resignation  which  only 
the  consciousness  of  some  deep  Compensating  Future 
could  give.  Giving  little  else,  however,  a  singular  dis 
satisfaction  obtained  with  the  traders,  and,  being  accom 
panied  with  a  reluctance  to  make  further  advances,  at  last 
touched  the  gentle  stoicism  of  the  proprietors  themselves. 
The  youthful  enthusiasm  which  had  at  first  lifted  the 
most  ineffectual  trial,  the  most  useless  essay,  to  the  plane 
of  actual  achievement,  died  out,  leaving  them  only  the 
dull,  prosaic  record  of  half-finished  ditches,  purposeless 
shafts,  untenable  pits,  abandoned  engines,  and  meaning 
less  disruptions  of  the  soil  upon  the  Lone  Star  claim,  and 
empty  flour  sacks  and  pork  barrels  in  the  Lone  Star 
cabin. 

They  had  borne  their  poverty,  if  that  term  could  be  ap 
plied  to  a  light  renunciation  of  all  superfluities  in  food, 
dress,  or  ornament,  ameliorated  by  the  gentle  depreda 
tions  already  alluded  to,  with  unassuming  levity.  More 


336     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

than  that :  having  segregated  themselves  from  their  fellow- 
miners  of  Red  Gulch,  and  entered  upon  the  possession  of 
the  little  manzanita-thicketed  valley  five  miles  away,  the 
failure  of  their  enterprise  had  assumed  in  their  eyes  only 
the  vague  significance  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  a  general 
community,  and  to  that  extent  relieved  them  of  individual 
responsibility.  It  was  easier  for  them  to  admit  that  the 
Lone  Star  claim  was  "  played  out  "  than  confess  to  a  per 
sonal  bankruptcy.  Moreover,  they  still  retained  the  sacred 
right  of  criticism  of  government,  and  rose  superior  in  their 
private  opinions  to  their  own  collective  wisdom.  Each 
one  experienced  a  grateful  sense  of  the  entire  responsibil 
ity  of  the  other  four  in  the  fate  of  their  enterprise. 

On  December  24,  1863,  a  gentle  rain  was  still  falling 
over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Lone  Star  claim.  It 
had  been  falling  for  several  days,  had  already  called  a  faint 
spring  color  to  the  wan  landscape,  repairing  with  tender 
touches  the  ravages  wrought  by  the  proprietors,  or  chari 
tably  covering  their  faults.  The  ragged  seams  in  gulch 
and  canon  lost  their  harsh  outlines,  a  thin  green  mantle 
faintly  clothed  the  torn  and  abraded  hillside.  A  few 
weeks  more,  and  a  veil  of  forgetfulness  would  be  drawn 
over  the  feeble  failures  of  the  Lone  Star  claim.  The 
charming  derelicts  themselves,  listening  to  the  raindrops 
on  the  roof  of  their  little  cabin,  gazed  philosophically 
from  the  open  door,  and  accepted  the  prospect  as  a  moral 
discharge  from  their  obligations.  Four  of  the  five  part 
ners  were  present.  The  Right  and  Left  Bowers,  Union 
Mills,  and  the  Judge. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  not  one  of  these 
titles  was  the  genuine  name  of  its  possessor.  The  Right 
and  Left  Bowers  were  two  brothers ;  their  sobriquets,  a 
cheerful  adaptation  from  the  favorite  game  of  euchre,  ex 
pressing  their  relative  value  in  the  camp.  The  mere  fact 
that  Union  Mills  had  at  one  time  patched  his  trousers 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     337 

with  an  old  flour-sack  legibly  bearing  that  brand  of  its 
fabrication,  was  a  tempting  baptismal  suggestion  that  the 
other  partners  could  not  forego.  The  Judge,  a  singu 
larly  inequitable  Missourian,  with  no  knowledge  whatever 
of  the  law,  was  an  inspiration  of  gratuitous  irony. 

Union  Mills,  who  had  been  for  some  time  sitting 
placidly  on  the  threshold  with  one  leg  exposed  to  the 
rain,  from  a  sheer  indolent  inability  to  change  his  posi 
tion,  finally  withdrew  that  weather-beaten  member,  and 
stood  up.  The  movement  more  or  less  deranged  the 
attitudes  of  the  other  partners,  and  was  received  with 
cynical  disfavor.  It  was  somewhat  remarkable  that,  al 
though  generally  giving  the  appearance  of  healthy  youth 
and  perfect  physical  condition,  they  one  and  all  simulated 
the  decrepitude  of  age  and  invalidism,  and  after  limping 
about  for  a  few  moments,  settled  back  again  upon  their 
bunks  and  stools  in  their  former  positions.  The  Left 
Bower  lazily  replaced  a  bandage  that  he  had  worn  around 
his  ankle  for  weeks  without  any  apparent  necessity,  and 
the  Judge  scrutinized  with  tender  solicitude  the  faded 
cicatrix  of  a  scratch  upon  his  arm.  A  passive  hypochon 
dria,  born  of  their  isolation,  was  the  last  ludicrously 
pathetic  touch  of  their  situation. 

The  immediate  cause  of  this  commotion  felt  the  neces 
sity  of  an  explanation. 

"It  would  have  been  just  as  easy  for  you  to  have 
stayed  outside  with  your  business  leg,  instead  of  dragging 
it  into  private  life  in  that  obtrusive  way,"  retorted  the 
Right  Bower  ;  "  but  that  exhaustive  effort  is  n't  going  to 
fill  the  pork  barrel.  The  grocery  man  at  Dalton  says  — 
what 's  that  he  said  ? "  he  appealed  lazily  to  the  Judge. 

"Said  he  reckoned  the  Lone  Star  was  about  played 
out,  and  he  did  n't  want  any  more  in  his  — thank  you  !" 
repeated  the  Judge  with  a  mechanical  effort  of  memory 
utterly  devoid  of  personal  or  present  interest. 


338     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

"  I  always  suspected  that  man,  after  Grimshaw  begun 
to  deal  with  him,"  said  the  Left  Bower.  "They're  just 
mean  enough  to  join  hands  against  us."  It  was  a  fixed 
belief  of  the  Lone  Star  partners  that  they  were  pursued 
by  personal  enmities. 

"  More  than  likely  those  new  strangers  over  in  the 
Fork  have  been  paying  cash  and  filled  him  up  with  con 
ceit,"  said  Union  Mills,  trying  to  dry  his  leg  by  alter 
nately  beating  it  or  rubbing  it  against  the  cabin  wall. 
"Once  begin  wrong  with  that  kind  of  snipe  and  you 
drag  everybody  down  with  you." 

This  vague  conclusion  was  received  with  dead  silence. 
Everybody  had  become  interested  in  the  speaker's  pecul 
iar  method  of  drying  his  leg,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  pre 
vious  topic.  A  few  offered  criticism,  no  one  assistance. 

"  Who  did  the  grocery  man  say  that  to  ?  "  asked  the 
Right  Bower,  finally  returning  to  the  question. 

"The  Old  Man,"  answered  the  Judge. 

"  Of  course,"  ejaculated  the  Right  Bower  sarcastically. 

"  Of  course,"  echoed  the  other  partners  together. 
"  That 's  like  him.  The  Old  Man  all  over  !  " 

It  did  not  appear  exactly  what  was  like  the  Old  Man, 
or  why  it  was  like  him,  but  generally  that  he  alone  was 
responsible  for  the  grocery  man's  defection.  It  was  put 
more  concisely  by  Union  Mills. 

"  That  comes  of  letting  him  go  there !  It 's  just  a  fair 
provocation  to  any  man  to  have  the  Old  Man  sent  to 
him.  They  can't,  sorter,  restrain  themselves  at  him. 
He  's  enough  to  spoil  the  credit  of  the  Rothschilds." 

"  That 's  so,"  chimed  in  the  Judge.  "  And  look  at  his 
prospecting.  Why,  he  was  out  two  nights  last  week,  all 
night,  prospecting  in  the  moonlight  for  blind  leads,  just 
out  of  sheer  foolishness." 

"  It  was  quite  enough  forme,"  broke  in  the  Left  Bower, 
"  when  the  other  day,  you  remember  when,  he  proposed 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     339 

to  us  white  men  to  settle  down  to  plain  ground  sluicing, 
making  '  grub '  wages  just  like  any  Chinaman.  It  just 
showed  his  idea  of  the  Lone  Star  claim." 

"  Well,  I  never  said  it  afore,"  added  Union  Mills,  "but 
when  that  one  of  the  Mattison  boys  came  over  here  to 
examine  the  claim  with  an  eye  to  purchasing  it  was  the 
Old  Man  that  took  the  conceit  out  of  him.  He  just  as 
good  as  admitted  that  a  lot  of  work  had  got  to  be  done 
afore  any  pay  ore  could  be  realized.  Never  even  asked 
him  over  to  the  shanty  here  to  jine  us  in  a  friendly  game ; 
just  kept  him,  so  to  speak,  to  himself.  And  naturally 
the  Mattisons  did  n't  see  it." 

A  silence  followed,  broken  only  by  the  rain  monoto 
nously  falling  on  the  roof,  and  occasionally  through  the 
broad  adobe  chimney,  where  it  provoked  a  retaliating  hiss 
and  splutter  from  the  dying  embers  of  the  hearth.  The 
Right  Bower,  with  a  sudden  access  of  energy,  drew  the 
empty  barrel  before  him,  and  taking  a  pack  of  well-worn 
cards  from  his  pocket,  began  to  make  a  "  solitaire  "  upon 
the  lid.  The  others  gazed  at  him  with  languid  interest. 

"  Makin'  it  for  anythin'  ?  "  asked  Mills. 

The  Right  Bower  nodded. 

The  Judge  and  Left  Bower,  who  were  partly  lying  in 
their  respective  bunks,  sat  up  to  get  a  better  view  of  the 
game.  Union  Mills  slowly  disengaged  himself  from  the 
wall  and  leaned  over  the  "  solitaire  "  player.  The  Right 
Bower  turned  the  last  card  in  a  pause  of  almost  thrilling 
suspense,  and  clapped  it  down  on  the  lid  with  fateful 
emphasis. 

"  It  went !  "  said  the  Judge  in  a  voice  of  hushed  respect. 
"  What  did  you  make  it  for  ?  "  he  almost  whispered. 

"  To  know  if  we  'd  make  the  break  we  talked  about  and 
vamose  the  ranch.  It 's  the  fifth  time  to-day,"  continued 
the  Right  Bower  in  a  voice  of  gloomy  significance.  "  And 
it  went  agin  bad  cards  too." 


340     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

"  I  ain't  superstitious,"  said  the  Judge,  with  awe  and 
fatuity  beaming  from  every  line  of  his  credulous  face, 
"  but  it 's  flyin'  in  the  face  of  Providence  to  go  agin  such 
signs  as  that." 

"  Make  it  again,  to  see  if  the  Old  Man  must  go,"  sug 
gested  the  Left  Bower. 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  favor,  the  three  men 
gathering  breathlessly  around  the  player.  Again  the 
fateful  cards  were  shuffled  deliberately,  placed  in  their 
mysterious  combination,  with  the  same  ominous  result. 
Yet  everybody  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely,  as  if 
relieved  from  some  responsibility,  the  Judge  accepting 
this  manifest  expression  of  Providence  with  resigned  self- 
righteousness. 

"Yes,  gentlemen,"  resumed  the  Left  Bower,  serenely, 
as  if  a  calm  legal  decision  had  just  been  recorded,  "  we 
must  not  let  any  foolishness  or  sentiment  get  mixed  up 
with  this  thing,  but  look  at  it  like  business  men.  The 
only  sensible  move  is  to  get  up  and  get  out  of  the  camp." 

"  And  the  Old  Man  ?  "  queried  the  Judge. 

"The  Old  Man  — hush  !  he  's  coming." 

The  doorway  was  darkened  by  a  slight  lissome  shadow. 
It  was  the  absent  partner,  otherwise  known  as  "  the  Old 
Man."  Need  it  be  added  that  he  was  a  boy  of  nineteen, 
with  a  slight  down  just  clothing  his  upper  lip  ! 

"  The  creek  is  up  over  the  ford,  and  I  had  to  *  shin  '  up 
a  willow  on  the  bank  and  swing  myself  across,"  he  said, 
with  a  quick,  frank  laugh  ;  "  but  all  the  same,  boys,  it 's 
going  to  clear  up  in  about  an  hour,  you  bet.  It 's  break 
ing  away  over  Bald  Mountain,  and  there  's  a  sun-flash  on 
a  bit  of  snow  on  Lone  Peak.  Look !  you  can  see  it  from 
here.  It 's  for  all  the  world  like  Noah's  dove  just  landed 
on  Mount  Ararat.  It 's  a  good  omen." 

From  sheer  force  of  habit  the  men  had  momentarily 
brightened  up  at  the  Old  Man's  entrance.  But  the  un- 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     341 

blushing  exhibition  of  degrading  superstition  shown  in 
the  last  sentence  recalled  their  just  severity.  They 
exchanged  meaning  glances.  Union  Mills  uttered  hope 
lessly  to  himself :  "  Hell 's  full  of  such  omens." 

Too  occupied  with  his  subject  to  notice  this  ominous 
reception,  the  Old  Man  continued :  "  I  reckon  I  struck 
a  fresh  lead  in  the  new  grocery  man  at  the  Crossing.  He 
says  he  '11  let  the  Judge  have  a  pair  of  boots  on  credit, 
but  he  can't  send  them  over  here ;  and  considering  that 
the  Judge  has  got  to  try  them  anyway,  it  don't  seem  to 
be  asking  too  much  for  the  Judge  to  go  over  there.  He 
says  he  '11  give  us  a  barrel  of  pork  and  a  bag  of  flour  if 
we  '11  give  him  the  right  of  using  our  tail-race  and  clean 
out  the  lower  end  of  it." 

"  It 's  the  work  of  a  Chinaman,  and  a  four  days'  job," 
broke  in  the  Left  Bower. 

"  It  took  one  white  man  only  two  hours  to  clean  out  a 
third  of  it,"  retorted  the  Old  Man  triumphantly,  "for  I 
pitched  in  at  once  with  a  pick  he  let  me  have  on  credit, 
and  did  that  amount  of  work  this  morning,  and  told  him 
the  rest  of  you  boys  would  finish  it  this  afternoon." 

A  slight  gesture  from  the  Right  Bower  checked  an 
angry  exclamation  from  the  Left.  The  Old  Man  did 
not  notice  either,  but,  knitting  his  smooth  young  brow  in 
a  paternally  reflective  fashion,  went  on  :  "  You  '11  have  to 
get  a  new  pair  of  trousers,  Mills,  but  as  he  does  n't  keep 
clothing,  we  '11  have  to  get  some  canvas  and  cut  you  out 
a  pair.  I  traded  off  the  beans  he  let  me  have  for  some 
tobacco  for  the  Right  Bower  at  the  other  shop,  and  got 
them  to  throw  in  a  new  pack  of  cards.  These  are  about 
played  out.  We  '11  be  wanting  some  brushwood  for  the 
fire  ;  there  's  a  heap  in  the  hollow.  Who  's  going  to 
bring  it  in  ?  It 's  the  Judge's  turn,  is  n't  it  ?  Why,  what's 
the  matter  with  you  all  ?  " 

The  restraint  and  evident  uneasiness  of  his  companions 


342     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

had  at  last  touched  him.  He  turned  his  frank  young 
eyes  upon  them ;  they  glanced  helplessly  at  each  other. 
Yet  his  first  concern  was  for  them,  his  first  instinct  pa 
ternal  and  protecting.  He  ran  his  eyes  quickly  over 
them  ;  they  were  all  there  and  apparently  in  their  usual 
condition.  "  Anything  wrong  with  the  claim  ?  "  he  sug 
gested. 

Without  looking  at  him  the  Right  Bower  rose,  leaned 
against  the  open  door  with  his  hands  behind  him  and  his 
face  towards  the  landscape,  and  said,  apparently  to  the 
distant  prospect :  "  The  claim 's  played  out,  the  partner 
ship  's  played  out,  and  the  sooner  we  skedaddle  out  of  this 
the  better.  If,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  Old  Man, 
"if  you  want  to  stay,  if  you  want  to  do  Chinaman's  work 
at  Chinaman's  wages,  if  you  want  to  hang  on  to  the 
charity  of  the  traders  at  the  Crossing,  you  can  do  it,  and 
enjoy  the  prospects  and  the  Noah's  doves  alone.  But 
we  're  calculatin'  to  step  out  of  it." 

"  But  I  have  n't  said  I  wanted  to  do  it  alone"  protested 
the  Old  Man  with  a  gesture  of  bewilderment. 

"  If  these  are  your  general  ideas  of  the  partnership," 
continued  the  Right  Bower,  clinging  to  the  established 
hypothesis  of  the  other  partners  for  support,  "it  ain't 
ours,  and  the  only  way  we  can  prove  it  is  to  stop  the  fool 
ishness  right  here.  We  calculated  to  dissolve  the  part 
nership  and  strike  out  for  ourselves  elsewhere.  You  're 
no  longer  responsible  for  us,  nor  we  for  you.  And  we 
reckon  it 's  the  square  thing  to  leave  you  the  claim  and 
the  cabin  and  all  it  contains.  To  prevent  any  trouble 
with  the  traders,  we  Ve  drawn  up  a  paper  here  "  — 

"  With  a  bonus  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  each  down, 
and  the  rest  to  be  settled  on  my  children,"  interrupted 
the  Old  Man,  with  a  half  uneasy  laugh.  "  Of  course. 
But"  —  he  stopped  suddenly,  the  blood  dropped  from 
his  fresh  cheek,  and  he  again  glanced  quickly  round  the 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     343 

group.  "I  don't  think  —  I  —  I  quite  sabe,  boys,"  he 
added,  with  a  slight  tremor  of  voice  and  lip.  "  If  it 's  a 
conundrum,  ask  me  an  easier  one." 

Any  lingering  doubt  he  might  have  had  of  their  mean 
ing  was  dispelled  by  the  Judge.  "  It 's  about  the  softest 
thing  you  kin  drop  into,  Old  Man,"  he  said  confidentially ; 
"if /had  n't  promised  the  other  boys  to  go  with  them, 
and  if  I  did  n't  need  the  best  medical  advice  in  Sacra 
mento  for  my  lungs,  I  'd  just  enjoy  staying  with  you." 

"  It  gives  a  sorter  freedom  to  a  young  fellow  like  you, 
Old  Man,  like  goin'  into  the  world  on  your  own  capital, 
that  every  Californian  boy  has  n't  got,"  said  Union  Mills, 
patronizingly. 

"  Of  course  it 's  rather  hard  papers  on  us,  you  know, 
givin'  up  everything,  so  to  speak  ;  but  it 's  for  your  good, 
and  we  ain't  goin'  back  on  you,"  said  the  Left  Bower, 
"  are  we,  boys  ? " 

The  color  had  returned  to  the  Old  Man's  face  a  little 
more  quickly  and  freely  than  usual.  He  picked  up  the 
hat  he  had  cast  down,  put  it  on  carefully  over  his  brown 
curls,  drew  the  flap  down  on  the  side  towards  his  compan 
ions,  and  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  All  right,"  he 
said,  in  a  slightly  altered  voice.  "  When  do  you  go  ? " 

"  To-day,"  answered  the  Left  Bower.  "  We  calculate 
to  take  a  moonlight  pasear  over  to  the  Cross  Roads  and 
meet  the  down  stage  at  about  twelve  to-night.  There  's 
plenty  of  time  yet,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  laugh ;  "  it 's 
only  three  o'clock  now." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Even  the  rain  withheld  its 
continuous  patter,  a  dumb,  gray  film  covered  the  ashes  of 
the  hushed  hearth.  For.  the  first  time  the  Right  Bower 
exhibited  some  slight  embarrassment. 

"  I  reckon  it 's  held  up  for  a  spell,"  he  said,  ostenta 
tiously  examining  the  weather,  "  and  we  might  as  well 
take  a  run  round  the  claim  to  see  if  we  Ve  forgotten  noth- 


344     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

ing.  Of  course,  we  '11  be  back  again,"  he  added  hastily, 
without  looking  at  the  Old  Man,  "  before  we  go,  you 
know." 

The  others  began  to  look  for  their  hats,  but  so  awk 
wardly  and  with  such  evident  preoccupation  of  mind  that 
it  was  not  at  first  discovered  that  the  Judge  had  his  al 
ready  on.  This  raised  a  laugh,  as  did  also  a  clumsy 
stumble  of  Union  Mills  against  the  pork  barrel,  although 
that  gentleman  took  refuge  from  his  confusion  and  se 
cured  a  decent  retreat  by  a  gross  exaggeration  of  his 
lameness,  as  he  limped  after  the  Right  Bower.  The  Judge 
whistled  feebly.  The  Left  Bower,  in  a  more  ambitious 
effort  to  impart  a  certain  gayety  to  his  exit,  stopped  on 
the  threshold  and  said,  as  if  in  arch  confidence  to  his 
companions,  "Darned  if  the  Old  Man  don't  look  two 
inches  higher  since  he  became  a  proprietor,"  laughed  pat 
ronizingly,  and  vanished. 

If  the  newly-made  proprietor  had  increased  in  stature, 
he  had  not  otherwise  changed  his  demeanor.  He  re 
mained  in  the  same  attitude  until  the  last  figure  disap 
peared  behind  the  fringe  of  buckeye  that  hid  the  distant 
highway.  Then  he  walked  slowly  to  the  fireplace,  and, 
leaning  against  the  chimney,  kicked  the  dying  embers  to 
gether  with  his  foot.  Something  dropped  and  spattered  in 
the  film  of  hot  ashes.  Surely  the  rain  had  not  yet  ceased  ! 

His  high  color  had  already  fled  except  for  a  spot  on 
either  cheekbone  that  lent  a  brightness  to  his  eyes.  He 
glanced  around  the  cabin.  It  looked  familiar  and  yet 
strange.  Rather,  it  looked  strange  because  still  familiar, 
and  therefore  incongruous  with  the  new  atmosphere  that 
surrounded  it  —  discordant  with  the  echo  of  their  last 
meeting,  and  painfully  accenting  the  change.  There 
were  the  four  "bunks,"  or  sleeping  berths,  of  his  compan 
ions,  each  still  bearing  some  traces  of  the  individuality  of 
its  late  occupant  with  a  dumb  loyalty  that  seemed  to 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     345 

make  their  light-hearted  defection  monstrous.  In  the 
dead  ashes  of  the  Judge's  pipe,  scattered  on  his  shelf,  still 
lived  his  old  fire ;  in  the  whittled  and  carved  edges  of  the 
Left  Bower's  bunk  still  were  the  memories  of  bygone 
days  of  delicious  indolence ;  in  the  bullet-holes  clustered 
round  a  knot  of  one  of  the  beams  there  was  still  the  rec 
ord  of  the  Right  Bower's  old-time  skill  and  practice ;  in 
the  few  engravings  of  female  loveliness  stuck  upon  each 
headboard  there  were  the  proofs  of  their  old  extravagant 
devotion  —  all  a  mute  protest  to  the  change. 

He  remembered  how,  a  fatherless,  truant  schoolboy,  he 
had  drifted  into  their  adventurous,  nomadic  life,  itself  a  life 
of  grown-up  truancy  like  his  own,  and  became  one  of  that 
gypsy  family.  How  they  had  taken  the  place  of  relations 
and  household  in  his  boyish  fancy,  filling  it  with  the  un 
substantial  pageantry  of  a  child's  play  at  grown-up  ex 
istence,  he  knew  only  too  well.  But  how,  from  being  a 
pet  and  protege,  he  had  gradually  and  unconsciously  as 
serted  his  own  individuality  and  taken  upon  his  younger 
shoulders  not  only  a  poet's  keen  appreciation  of  that  life, 
but  its  actual  responsibilities  and  half-childish  burdens, 
he  never  suspected.  He  had  fondly  believed  that  he 
was  a  neophyte  in  their  ways,  a  novice  in  their  charming 
faith  and  indolent  creed,  and  they  had  encouraged  it ; 
now  their  renunciation  of  that  faith  could  only  be  an  ex 
cuse  for  a  renunciation  of  him.  The  poetry  that  had  for 
two  years  invested  the  material  and  sometimes  even  mean 
details  of  their  existence  was  too  much  a  part  of  himself 
to  be  lightly  dispelled.  The  lesson  of  those  ingenuous 
moralists  failed,  as  such  lessons  are  apt  to  fail ;  their  dis 
cipline  provoked  but  did  not  subdue;  a  rising  indigna 
tion,  stirred  by  a  sense  of  injury,  mounted  to  his  cheek 
and  eyes.  It  was  slow  to  come,  but  was  none  the  less 
violent  that  it  had  been  preceded  by  the  benumbing 
shock  of  shame  and  pride. 


346     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

I  hope  I  shall  not  prejudice  the  reader's  sympathies  if 
my  duty  as  a  simple  chronicler  compels  me  to  state,  there 
fore,  that  the  sober  second  thought  of  this  gentle  poet  was 
to  burn  down  the  cabin  on  the  spot  with  all  its  contents. 
This  yielded  to  a  milder  counsel  —  waiting  for  the  return 
of  the  party,  challenging  the  Right  Bower,  a  duel  to  the 
death,  perhaps  himself  the  victim,  with  the  crushing  ex 
planation  in  extremis,  "  It  seems  we  are  one  too  many. 
No  matter ;  it  is  settled  now.  Farewell ! "  Dimly  remem 
bering,  however,  that  there  was  something  of  this  in  the 
last  well-worn  novel  they  had  read  together,  and  that  his 
antagonist  might  recognize  it,  or  even  worse,  anticipate 
it  himself,  the  idea  was  quickly  rejected.  Besides,  the 
opportunity  for  an  apotheosis  of  self-sacrifice  was  past. 
Nothing  remained  now  but  to  refuse  the  proffered  bribe 
of  claim  and  cabin  by  letter,  for  he  must  not  wait  their 
return.  He  tore  a  leaf  from  a  blotted  diary,  begun  and 
abandoned  long  since,  and  essayed  to  write.  Scrawl  after 
scrawl  was  torn  up,  until  his  fury  had  cooled  down  to 
a  frigid  third  personality.  "  Mr.  John  Ford  regrets  to  in 
form  his  late  partners  that  their  tender  of  house,  of  furni 
ture,"  however,  seemed  too  inconsistent  with  the  pork- 
barrel  table  he  was  writing  on ;  a  more  eloquent  renuncia 
tion  of  their  offer  became  frivolous  and  idiotic  from  a 
caricature  of  Union  Mills,  label  and  all,  that  appeared 
suddenly  on  the  other  side  of  the  leaf ;  and  when  he  at 
last  indited  a  satisfactory  and  impassioned  exposition  of 
his  feelings,  the  legible  addendum  of  "  Oh,  ain't  you  glad 
you  're  out  of  the  wilderness  !  "  —  the  forgotten  first  line 
of  a  popular  song,  which  no  scratching  would  erase  — 
seemed  too  like  an  ironical  postscript  to  be  thought  of 
for  a  moment.  He  threw  aside  his  pen  and  cast  the  dis 
cordant  record  of  past  foolish  pastime  into  the  dead  ashes 
of  the  hearth. 

How  quiet  it  was  !     With  the  cessation  of  the  rain  the 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     347 

wind  too  had  gone  down,  and  scarcely  a  breath  of  air 
came  through  the  open  door.  He  walked  to  the  threshold 
and  gazed  on  the  hushed  prospect.  In  this  listless  atti 
tude  he  was  faintly  conscious  of  a  distant  reverberation,  a 
mere  phantom  of  sound  —  perhaps  the  explosion  of  a 
distant  blast  in  the  hills  —  that  left  the  silence  more 
marked  and  oppressive.  As  he  turned  again  into  the 
cabin  a  change  seemed  to  have  come  over  it.  It  already 
looked  old  and  decayed.  The  loneliness  of  years  of 
desertion  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  it ;  the  at 
mosphere  of  dry  rot  was  in  the  beams  and  rafters.  To 
his  excited  fancy  the  few  disordered  blankets  and  articles 
of  clothing  seemed  dropping  to  pieces;  in  one  of  the 
bunks  there  was  a  hideous  resemblance  in  the  longitudi 
nal  heap  of  clothing  to  a  withered  and  mummied  corpse. 
So  it  might  look  in  after-years  when  some  passing  stranger 

—  but  he  stopped.     A  dread  of  the  place  was  beginning 
to  creep  over  him ;  a  dread  of  the  days  to  come,  when 
the  monotonous  sunshine  should  lay  bare  the  loneliness 
of  these  walls ;  the  long,  long  days  of  endless  blue  and 
cloudless,  overhanging  solitude  ;  summer  days  when  the 
wearying,  incessant  trade  winds  should  sing  around  that 
empty  shell  and  voice  its  desolation.     He  gathered  to 
gether  hastily  a  few  articles  that  were  especially  his  own 

—  rather  that  the  free  communion  of  the  camp,  from  in 
difference  or  accident,  had  left  wholly  to  him.     He  hesi 
tated  for  a  moment  over  his  rifle,  but,  scrupulous  in  his 
wounded  pride,  turned  away  and  left  the  familiar  weapon 
that  in  the  dark  days  had  so  often  provided  the  dinner 
or  breakfast  of  the  little  household.     Candor  compels  me 
to  state  that  his  equipment  was  not  large  nor  eminently 
practical.     His  scant  pack  was  a  light  weight  for  even 
his  young  shoulders,  but  I  fear  he  thought  more  of  get 
ting  away  from  the  Past  than  providing  for  the  Future. 

With  this  vague  but  sole  purpose  he  left  the  cabin,  and 


348     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

almost  mechanically  turned  his  steps  towards  the  creek 
he  had  crossed  that  morning.  He  knew  that  by  this 
route  he  would  avoid  meeting  his  companions ;  its  diffi 
culties  and  circuitousness  would  exercise  his  feverish 
limbs  and  give  him  time  for  reflection.  He  had  deter 
mined  to  leave  the  claim,  but  whence  he  had  not  yet  con 
sidered.  He  reached  the  bank  of  the  creek  where  he 
had  stood  two  hours  before ;  it  seemed  to  him  two  years. 
He  looked  curiously  at  his  reflection  in  one  of  the  broad 
pools  of  overflow,  and  fancied  he  looked  older.  He 
watched  the  rush  and  outset  of  the  turbid  current  hurry 
ing  to  meet  the  South  Fork,  and  to  eventually  lose  itself 
in  the  yellow  Sacramento.  Even  in  his  preoccupation  he 
was  impressed  with  a  likeness  to  himself  and  his  com 
panions  in  this  flood  that  had  burst  its  peaceful  bounda 
ries.  In  the  drifting  fragments  of  one  of  their  forgotten 
flumes  washed  from  the  bank,  he  fancied  he  saw  an 
omen  of  the  disintegration  and  decay  of  the  Lone  Star 
claim. 

The  strange  hush  in  the  air  that  he  had  noticed  before 
—  a  calm  so  inconsistent  with  that  hour  and  the  season 
as  to  seem  portentous — became  more  marked  in  con 
trast  to  the  feverish  rush  of  the  turbulent  watercourse. 
A  few  clouds  lazily  huddled  in  the  west  apparently  had 
gone  to  rest  with  the  sun  on  beds  of  somnolent  poppies. 
There  was  a  gleam  as  of  golden  water  everywhere  along 
the  horizon,  washing  out  the  cold  snow-peaks,  and  drown 
ing  even  the  rising  moon.  The  creek  caught  it  here  and 
there,  until,  in  grim  irony,  it  seemed  to  bear  their  broken 
sluice-boxes  and  useless  engines  on  the  very  Pactolian 
stream  they  had  been  hopefully  created  to  direct  and 
carry.  But  by  some  peculiar  trick  of  the  atmosphere 
the  perfect  plenitude  of  that  golden  sunset  glory  was 
lavished  on  the  rugged  sides  and  tangled  crest  of  the 
Lone  Star  Mountain.  That  isolated  peak,  the  landmark 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     349 

of  their  claim,  the  gaunt  monument  of  their  folly,  trans 
figured  in  the  evening  splendor,  kept  its  radiance  un- 
quenched  long  after  the  glow  had  fallen  from  the  encom 
passing  skies,  and  when  at  last  the  rising  moon,  step  by 
step,  put  out  the  fires  along  the  winding  valley  and  plains, 
and  crept  up  the  bosky  sides  of  the  canon,  the  vanishing 
sunset  was  lost  only  to  reappear  as  a  golden  crown. 

The  eyes  of  the  young  man  were  fixed  upon  it  with 
more  than  a  momentary  picturesque  interest.  It  had  been 
the  favorite  ground  of  his  prospecting  exploits,  its  lowest 
flank  had  been  scarred  in  the  old  enthusiastic  days  with 
hydraulic  engines,  or  pierced  with  shafts,  but  its  central 
position  in  the  claim  and  its  superior  height  had  always 
given  it  a  commanding  view  of  the  extent  of  their  valley 
and  its  approaches,  and  it  was  this  practical  preeminence 
that  alone  attracted  him  at  that  moment.  He  knew  that 
from  its  crest  he  would  be  able  to  distinguish  the  figures 
of  his  companions,  as  they  crossed  the  valley  near  the 
cabin,  in  the  growing  moonlight.  Thus  he  could  avoid 
encountering  them  on  his  way  to  the  highroad,  and  yet 
see  them,  perhaps,  for  the  last  time.  Even  in  his  sense 
of  injury  there  was  a  strange  satisfaction  in  the  thought. 

The  ascent  was  toilsome,  but  familiar.  All  along  the 
dim  trail  he  was  accompanied  by  gentler  memories  of  the 
past,  that  seemed,  like  the  faint  odor  of  spiced  leaves 
and  fragrant  grasses  wet  with  the  rain  and  crushed  beneath 
his  ascending  tread,  to  exhale  the  sweeter  perfume  in  his 
effort  to  subdue  or  rise  above  them.  There  was  the 
thicket  of  manzanita,  where  they  had  broken  noonday 
bread  together ;  here  was  the  rock  beside  their  maiden 
shafts,  where  they  had  poured  a  wild  libation  in  boyish 
enthusiasm  of  success ;  and  here  the  ledge  where  their 
first  flag,  a  red  shirt  heroically  sacrificed,  was  displayed 
from  a  long-handled  shovel  to  the  gaze  of  admirers  below. 
When  he  at  last  reached  the  summit,  the  mysterious  hush 


350     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

was  still  in  the  air,  as  if  in  breathless  sympathy  with  his 
expedition.  In  the  west,  the  plain  was  faintly  illuminated, 
but  disclosed  no  moving  figures.  He  turned  towards  the 
rising  moon,  and  moved  slowly  to  the  eastern  edge.  Sud 
denly  he  stopped.  Another  step  would  have  been  his 
last !  He  stood  upon  the  crumbling  edge  of  a  precipice. 
A  landslip  had  taken  place  on  the  eastern  flank,  leaving 
the  gaunt  ribs  and  fleshless  bones  of  Lone  Star  Mountain 
bare  in  the  moonlight.  He  understood  now  the  strange 
rumble  and  reverberation  he  had  heard ;  he .  understood 
now  the  strange  hush  of  bird  and  beast  in  brake  and 
thicket ! 

Although  a  single  rapid  glance  convinced  him  that  the 
slide  had  taken  place  in  an  unfrequented  part  of  the 
mountain,  above  an  inaccessible  canon,  and  reflection 
assured  him  his  companions  could  not  have  reached  that 
distance  when  it  took  place,  a  feverish  impulse  led  him  to 
descend  a  few  rods  in  the  track  of  the  avalanche.  The 
frequent  recurrence  of  outcrop  and  angle  made  this  com 
paratively  easy.  Here  he  called  aloud ;  the  feeble  echo 
of  his  own  voice  seemed  only  a  dull  impertinence  to  the 
significant  silence.  He  turned  to  reascend  ;  the  furrowed 
flank  of  the  mountain  before  him  lay  full  in  the  moon 
light.  To  his  excited  fancy  a  dozen  luminous  star-like 
points  in  the  rocky  crevices  started  into  life  as  he  faced 
them.  Throwing  his  arm  over  the  ledge  above  him,  he 
supported  himself  for  a  moment  by  what  appeared  to  be 
a  projection  of  the  solid  rock.  It  trembled  slightly.  As 
he  raised  himself  to  its  level,  his  heart  stopped  beating. 
It  was  simply  a  fragment  detached  from  the  outcrop, 
lying  loosely  on  the  ledge  but  upholding  him  by  its  own 
weight  only.  He  examined  it  with  trembling  fingers  ;  the 
encumbering  soil  fell  from  its  sides  and  left  its  smoothed 
and  worn  protuberances  glistening  in  the  moonlight.  It 
was  virgin  gold ! 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     351 

Looking  back  upon  that  moment  afterwards,  he  re 
membered  that  he  was  not  dazed,  dazzled,  or  startled. 
It  did  not  come  to  him  as  a  discovery  or  an  accident,  a 
stroke  of  chance  or  a  caprice  of  fortune.  He  saw  it  all 
in  that  supreme  moment ;  Nature  had  worked  out  their 
poor  deduction.  What  their  feeble  engines  had  essayed 
spasmodically  and  helplessly  against  the  curtain  of  soil 
that  hid  the  treasure,  the  elements  had  achieved  with 
mightier  but  more  patient  forces.  The  slow  sapping  of 
the  winter  rains  had  loosened  the  soil  from  the  auriferous 
rock,  even  while  the  swollen  stream  was  carrying  their 
impotent  and  shattered  engines  to  the  sea.  What  mat 
tered  that  his  single  arm  could  not  lift  the  treasure  he 
had  found ;  what  mattered  that  to  unfix  those  glittering 
stars  would  still  tax  both  skill  and  patience  !  The  work 
was  done,  the  goal  was  reached !  even  his  boyish  impa 
tience  was  content  with  that.  He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet, 
unstrapped  his  Jong-handled  shovel  from  his  back,  se 
cured  it  in  the  crevice,  and  quietly  regained  the  summit. 

It  was  all  his  own  !  His  own  by  right  of  discovery 
under  the  law  of  the  land,  and  without  accepting  a  favor 
from  them.  He  recalled  even  the  fact  that  it  was  his 
prospecting  on  the  mountain  that  first  suggested  the  ex 
istence  of  gold  in  the  outcrop  and  the  use  of  the  hy 
draulic.  He  had  never  abandoned  that  belief,  whatever 
the  others  had  done.  He  dwelt  somewhat  indignantly 
to  himself  on  this  circumstance,  and  half  unconsciously 
faced  defiantly  towards  the  plain  below.  But  it  was 
sleeping  peacefully  in  the  full  sight  of  the  moon,  without 
life  or  motion.  He  looked  at  the  stars,  it  was  still  far 
from  midnight.  His  companions  had  no  doubt  long  since 
returned  to  the  cabin  to  prepare  for  their  midnight 
journey.  They  were  discussing  him,  perhaps  laughing  at 
him,  or  worse,  pitying  him  and  his  bargain.  Yet  here 
was  his  bargain !  A  slight  laugh  he  gave  vent  to  here 


352     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

startled  him  a  little,  it  sounded  so  hard  and  so  unmirth- 
ful,  and  so  unlike,  as  he  oddly  fancied  what  he  really 
thought.  But  what  did  he  think  ? 

Nothing  mean  or  revengeful ;  no,  they  never  would  say 
that.  When  he  had  taken  out  all  the  surface  gold  and 
put  the  mine  in  working  order,  he  would  send  them  each 
a  draft  for  a  thousand  dollars.  Of  course,  if  they  were 
ever  ill  or  poor  he  would  do  more.  One  of  the  first, 
the  very  first  things  he  should  do  would  be  to  send  them 
each  a  handsome  gun  and  tell  them  that  he  only  asked 
in  return  the  old-fashioned  rifle  that  once  was  his.  Look 
ing  back  at  the  moment  in  after-years,  he  wondered  that, 
with  this  exception,  he  made  no  plans  for  his  own  future, 
or  the  way  he  should  dispose  of  his  newly  acquired 
wealth.  This  was  the  more  singular  as  it  had  been  the 
custom  of  the  five  partners  to  lie  awake  at  night,  audibly 
comparing  with  each  other  what  they  would  do  in  case 
they  made  a  strike.  He  remembered  how,  Alnaschar-like, 
they  nearly  separated  once  over  a  difference  in  the  dis 
posal  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  that  they  never  had, 
nor  expected  to  have.  He  remembered  how  Union  Mills 
always  began  his  career  as  a  millionaire  by  a  "  square 
meal  "  at  Delmonico's  ;  how  the  Right  Bower's  initial 
step  was  always  a  trip  home  "  to  see  his  mother ; "  how 
the  Left  Bower  would  immediately  placate  the  parents  of 
his  beloved  with  priceless  gifts  (it  may  be  parenthetically 
remarked  that  the  parents  and  the  beloved  one  were  as 
hypothetical  as  the  fortune) ;  and  how  the  Judge  would 
make  his  first  start  as  a  capitalist  by  breaking  a  certain 
faro  bank  in  Sacramento.  He  himself  had  been  equally 
eloquent  in  extravagant  fancy  in  those  penniless  days,  he 
who  now  was  quite  cold  and  impassive  beside  the  more 
extravagant  reality. 

How  different  it  might  have  been  !  If  they  had  only 
waited  a  day  longer  !  if  they  had  only  broken  their  resolves 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     353 

to  him  kindly  and  parted  in  good  will !  How  he  would 
long  ere  this  have  rushed  to  greet  them  with  the  joyful 
news  !  How  they  would  have  danced  around  it,  sung 
themselves  hoarse,  laughed  down  their  enemies,  and  run 
up  the  flag  triumphantly  on  the  summit  of  the  Lone  Star 
Mountain !  How  they  would  have  crowned  him  "  the 
Old  Man,"  "  the  hero  of  the  camp  ! "  How  he  would 
have  told  them  the  whole  story ;  how  some  strange  in 
stinct  had  impelled  him  to  ascend  the  summit,  and  how 
another  step  on  that  summit  would  have  precipitated  him 
into  the  canon  !  And  how  —  but  what  if  somebody  else, 
Union  Mills  or  the  Judge,  had  been  the  first  discoverer  ? 
Might  they  not  have  meanly  kept  the  secret  from  him  ; 
have  selfishly  helped  themselves  and  done  — 

"  Whatyvu  are  doing  now." 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  his  cheek,  as  if  a  strange  voice 
were  at  his  ear.  For  a  moment  he  could  not  believe  that 
it  came  from  his  own  pale  lips  until  he  found  himself 
speaking.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  tingling  with  shame,  and 
began  hurriedly  to  descend  the  mountain. 

He  would  go  to  them,  tell  them  of  his  discovery,  let 
them  give  him  his  share,  and  leave  them  forever.  It  was 
the  only  thing  to  be  done,  strange  that  he  had  not  thought 
of  it  at  once.  Yet  it  was  hard,  very  hard  and  cruel,  to 
be  forced  to  meet  them  again.  What  had  he  done  to 
suffer  this  mortification  ?  For  a  moment  he  actually 
hated  this  vulgar  treasure  that  had  forever  buried  under 
its  gross  ponderability  the  light  and  careless  past,  and 
utterly  crushed  out  the  poetry  of  their  old,  indolent, 
happy  existence. 

He  was  sure  to  find  them  waiting  at  the  Cross  Roads 
where  the  coach  came  past.  It  was  three  miles  away, 
yet  he  could  get  there  in  time  if  he  hastened.  It  was  a 
wise  and  practical  conclusion  of  his  evening's  work,  a  lame 
and  impotent  conclusion  to  his  evening's  indignation. 


354     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

No  matter.  They  would  perhaps  at  first  think  he  had 
come  to  weakly  follow  them,  perhaps  they  would  at  first 
doubt  his  story.  No  matter.  He  bit  his  lips  to  keep  down 
the  foolish  rising  tears,  but  still  went  blindly  forward. 

He  saw  not  the  beautiful  night,  cradled  in  the  dark 
hills,  swathed  in  luminous  mists,  and  hushed  in  the  awe 
of  its  own  loveliness  !  Here  and  there  the  moon  had 
laid  her  calm  face  on  lake  and  overflow,  and  gone  to  sleep 
embracing  them,  until  the  whole  plain  seemed  to  be  lifted 
into  infinite  quiet.  Walking  on  as  in  a  dream,  the  black, 
impenetrable  barriers  of  skirting  thickets  opened  and 
gave  way  to  vague  distances  that  it  appeared  impossible 
to  reach,  dim  vistas  that  seemed  unapproachable.  Grad 
ually  he  seemed  himself  to  become  a  part  of  the  myste 
rious  night.  He  was  becoming  as  pulseless,  as  calm,  as 
passionless. 

What  was  that  ?  A  shot  in  the  direction  of  the  cabin  ! 
yet  so  faint,  so  echoless,  so  ineffective  in  the  vast  silence, 
that  he  would  have  thought  it  his  fancy  but  for  the  strange 
instinctive  jar  upon  his  sensitive  nerves.  Was  it  an  ac 
cident,  or  was  it  an  intentional  signal  to  him  ?  He 
stopped ;  it  was  not  repeated,  the  silence  reasserted  it 
self,  but  this  time  with  an  ominous  deathlike  suggestion. 
A  sudden  and  terrible  thought  crossed  his  mind.  He 
cast  aside  his  pack  and  all  encumbering  weight,  took  a 
deep  breath,  lowered  his  head,  and  darted  like  a  deer  in 
the  direction  of  the  challenge. 


II. 

The  exodus  of  the  seceding  partners  of  the  Lone  Star 
claim  had  been  scarcely  an  imposing  one.  For  the  first 
five  minutes  after  quitting  the  cabin  the  procession  was 
straggling  and  vagabond.  Unwonted  exertion  had  exag- 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     355 

gerated  the  lameness  of  some,  and  feebleness  of  moral 
purpose  had  predisposed  the  others  to  obtrusive  musical 
exhibition.  Union  Mills  limped  and  whistled  with  affected 
abstraction ;  the  Judge  whistled  and  limped  with  affected 
earnestness.  The  Right  Bower  led  the  way  with  some 
show  of  definite  design  ;  the  Left  Bower  followed  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  The  two  feebler  natures,  drawn 
together  in  unconscious  sympathy,  looked  vaguely  at  each 
other  for  support. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  Judge,  suddenly,  as  if  triumphantly 
concluding  an  argument,  "  there  ain't  anything  better  for 
a  young  fellow  than  independence.  Nature,  so  to  speak, 
points  the  way.  Look  at  the  animals." 

"  There  's  a  skunk  hereabouts,"  said  Union  Mills,  who 
was  supposed  to  be  gifted  with  aristocratically  sensitive 
nostrils,  "  within  ten  miles  of  this  place  ;  like  as  not 
crossing  the  Ridge.  It 's  always  my  luck  to  happen  out 
just  at  such  times.  I  don't  see  the  necessity  anyhow  of 
trapesing  round  the  claim  now,  if  we  calculate  to  leave  it 
to-night." 

Both  men  waited  to  observe  if  the  suggestion  was  taken 
up  by  the  Right  and  Left  Bower  moodily  plodding  ahead. 
No  response  following,  the  Judge  shamelessly  abandoned 
his  companion. 

"  You  would  n't  stand  snoopin'  round  instead  of  lettin' 
the  Old  Man  get  used  to  the  idea  alone  ?  No  ;  I  could 
see  all  along  that  he  was  takin'  it  in,  takin'  it  in  kindly 
but  slowly,  and  I  reckoned  the  best  thing  for  us  to  do 
was  to  git  up  and  git  until  he'd  got  round  it."  The 
Judge's  voice  was  slightly  raised  for  the  benefit  of  the 
two  before  him. 

"  Did  n't  he  say,"  remarked  the  Right  Bower,  stopping 
suddenly  and  facing  the  others,  "  did  n't  he  say  that  that 
new  trader  was  goin'  to  let  him  have  some  provisions  any 
way  ? " 


356     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

Union  Mills  turned  appealingly  to  the  Judge ;  that 
gentleman  was  forced  to  reply,  "  Yes  ;  I  remember  dis 
tinctly  he  said  it.  It  was  one  of  the  things  I  was  partic 
ular  about  on  his  account,"  responded  the  Judge,  with  the 
air  of  having  arranged  it  all  himself  with  the  new  trader. 
"  I  remember  I  was  easier  in  my  mind  about  it." 

"But  didn't  he  say,"  queried  the  Left  Bower,  also 
stopping  short,  "suthin'  about  its  being  contingent  on 
our  doing  some  work  on  the  race  ? " 

The  Judge  turned  for  support  to  Union  Mills,  who,  how 
ever,  under  the  hollow  pretense  of  preparing  for  a  long 
conference,  had  luxuriously  seated  himself  on  a  stump. 
The  Judge  sat  down  also,  and  replied,  hesitatingly, 
"  Well,  yes  !  Us  or  him." 

"Us  or  him,"  repeated  the  Right  Bower,  with  gloomy 
irony.  "  And  you  ain't  quite  clear  in  your  mind,  are  you, 
if  you  have  n't  done  the  work  already?  You're  just  kill 
ing  yourself  with  this  spontaneous,  promiscuous,  and  pre 
mature  overwork  ;  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with  you." 

"  I  reckon  I  heard  somebody  say  suthin'  about  its 
being  a  Chinaman's  three-day  job,"  interpolated  the  Left 
Bower,  with  equal  irony,  "  but  I  ain't  quite  clear  in  my 
mind  about  that." 

"  It  '11  be  a  sorter  distraction  for  the  Old  Man,"  said 
Union  Mills,  feebly,  —  "  kinder  take  his  mind  off  his 
loneliness." 

Nobody  taking  the  least  notice  of  the  remark,  Union 
Mills  stretched  out  his  legs  more  comfortably  and  took 
out  his  pipe.  He  had  scarcely  done  so  when  the  Right 
Bower,  wheeling  suddenly,  set  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
creek.  The  Left  Bower,  after  a  slight  pause,  followed 
without  a  word.  The  Judge,  wisely  conceiving  it  better 
to  join  the  stronger  party,  ran  feebly  after  him,  and  left 
Union  Mills  to  bring  up  a  weak  and  vacillating  rear. 

Their  course,  diverging  from  Lone  Star  Mountain,  led 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.     357 

them  now  directly  to  the  bend  of  the  creek,  the  base  of 
their  old  ineffectual  operations.  Here  was  the  beginning 
of  the  famous  tail  -  race  that  skirted  the  new  trader's 
claim,  and  then  lost  its  way  in  a  swampy  hollow.  It  was 
choked  with  debris ;  a  thin,  yellow  stream  that  once  ran 
through  it  seemed  to  have  stopped  work  when  they  did, 
and  gone  into  greenish  liquidation. 

They  had  scarcely  spoken  during  this  brief  journey, 
and  had  received  no  other  explanation  from  the  Right 
Bower,  who  led  them,  than  that  afforded  by  his  mute  ex 
ample  when  he  reached  the  race.  Leaping  into  it  with 
out  a  word,  he  at  once  began  to  clear  away  the  broken 
timbers  and  drift-wood.  Fired  by  the  spectacle  of  what 
appeared  to  be  a  new  and  utterly  frivolous  game,  the 
men  gayly  leaped  after  him,  and  were  soon  engaged  in  a 
fascinating  struggle  with  the  impeded  race.  The  Judge 
forgot  his  lameness  in  springing  over  a  broken  sluice- 
box  ;  Union  Mills  forgot  his  whistle  in  a  happy  imitation 
of  a  Chinese  coolie's  song.  Nevertheless,  after  ten  min 
utes  of  this  mild  dissipation,  the  pastime  flagged  ;  Union 
Mills  was  beginning  to  rub  his  leg,  when  a  distant  rumble 
shook  the  earth.  The  men  looked  at  each  other;  the 
diversion  was  complete  ;  a  languid  discussion  of  the  pro 
babilities  of  its  being  an  earthquake  or  a  blast  followed, 
in  the  midst  of  which  the  Right  Bower,  who  was  working 
a  little  in  advance  of  the  others,  uttered  a  warning  cry 
and  leaped  from  the  race.  His  companions  had  barely 
time  to  follow  before  a  sudden  and  inexplicable  rise  in 
the  waters  of  the  creek  sent  a  swift  irruption  of  the  flood 
through  the  race.  In  an  instant  its  choked  and  impeded 
channel  was  cleared,  the  race  was  free,  and  the  scattered 
de'bris  of  logs  and  timber  floated  upon  its  easy  current. 
Quick  to  take  advantage  of  this  labor-saving  phenomenon, 
the  Lone  Star  partners  sprang  in-to  the  water,  and  by  dis 
entangling  and  directing  the  eddying  fragments  completed 
their  work. 


358    Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

11  The  Old  Man  oughter  been  here  to  see  this,"  said  the 
Left  Bower ;  "  it  's  just  one  o'  them  climaxes  of  poetic 
justice  he  's  always  huntin'  up.  It  's  easy  to  see  what 's 
happened.  One  o'  them  high-toned  shrimps  over  in  the 
Excelsior  claim  has  put  a  blast  in  too  near  the  creek. 
He 's  tumbled  the  bank  into  the  creek  and  sent  the  back 
water  down  here  just  to  wash  out  our  race.  That's  what 
I  call  poetical  retribution." 

"  And  who  was  it  advised  us  to  dam  the  creek  below 
the  race  and  make  it  do  the  thing  ?  "  asked  the  Right 
Bower,  moodily. 

"  That  was  one  of  the  Old  Man's  ideas,  I  reckon,"  said 
the  Left  Bower,  dubiously. 

"  And  you  remember,"  broke  in  the  Judge  with  anima 
tion,  "  I  allus  said,  '  Go  slow,  go  slow.  You  just  hold  on 
and  suthin'  will  happen.'  And,"  he  added,  triumphantly, 
"you  see  suthin'  has  happened.  I  don't  want  to  take 
credit  to  myself,  but  I  reckoned  on  them  Excelsior  boys 
bein'  fools,  and  took  the  chances." 

"  And  what  if  I  happen  to  know  that  the  Excelsior 
boys  ain't  blastin'  to-day?"  said  the  Right  Bower,  sarcas 
tically. 

As  the  Judge  had  evidently  based  his  hypothesis  on  the 
alleged  fact  of  a  blast,  he  deftly  evaded  the  point.  "  I 
ain't  sayin'  the  Old  Man's  head  ain't  level  on  some  things  ; 
he  wants  a  little  more  sabe  of  the  world.  He  's  improved 
a  good  deal  in  euchre  lately,  and  in  poker  —  well  !  he  's 
got  that  sorter  dreamy,  listenin'-to-the-angels  kind  o'  way 
that  you  can't  exactly  tell  whether  he  's  bluffin'  or  has 
got  a  full  hand.  Has  n't  he  ?  "  he  asked,  appealing  to 
Union  Mills. 

But  that  gentleman,  who  had  been  watching  the  dark 
face  of  the  Right  Bower,  preferred  to  take  what  he 
believed  to  be  his  cue  from  him.  "  That  ain't  the  ques 
tion,"  he  said  virtuously;  "we  ain't  takin'  this  step  to 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.    359 

make  a  card  sharp  out  of  him.  We  're  not  doin'  China 
men's  work  in  this  race  to-day  for  that.  No,  sir !  We  're 
teachin'  him  to  paddle  his  own  canoe."  Not  rinding  the 
sympathetic  response  he  looked  for  in  the  Right  Bower's 
face,  he  turned  to  the  Left. 

"  I  reckon  we  were  teachin'  him  our  canoe  was  too  full," 
was  the  Left  Bower's  unexpected  reply.  "  That 's  about 
the  size  of  it." 

The  Right  Bower  shot  a  rapid  glance  under  his  brows 
at  his  brother.  The  latter,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
stared  unconsciously  at  the  rushing  water,  and  then 
quietly  turned  away.  The  Right  Bower  followed  him. 
"  Are  you  goin'  back  on  us  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Are  you  ?  "  responded  the  other. 

"  No  !  " 

"  No,  then  it  is,"  returned  the  Left  Bower  quietly.  The 
elder  brother  hesitated  in  half-angry  embarrassment. 

"  Then  what  did  you  mean  by  saying  we  reckoned  our 
canoe  was  too  full  ?  " 

"Wasn't  that  our  idea?"  returned  the  Left  Bower, 
indifferently.  Confounded  by  this  practical  expression 
of  his  own  unformulated  good  intentions,  the  Right  Bower 
was  staggered. 

"  Speakin'  of  the  Old  Man,"  broke  in  the  Judge,  with 
characteristic  infelicity,  "  I  reckon  he  '11  sort  o'  miss  us, 
times  like  these.  We  were  allers  runnin'  him  and  bedev- 
ilin'  him,  after  work,  just  to  get  him  excited  and  amusin', 
and  he  '11  kinder  miss  that  sort  o'  stimulatin'.  I  reckon 
we  '11  miss  it  too,  somewhat.  Don't  you  remember,  boys, 
the  night  we  put  up  that  little  sell  on  him  and  made  him 
believe  we  'd  struck  it  rich  in  the  bank  of  the  creek,  and 
got  him  so  conceited,  he  wanted  to  go  off  and  settle  all 
our  debts  at  once  ?  " 

"  And  how  I  came  bustin'  into  the  cabin  with  a  pan  full 
of  iron  pyrites  and  black  sand,"  chuckled  Union  Mills, 


360    Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

continuing  the  reminiscences,  "  and  how  them  big  gray 
eyes  of  his  nearly  bulged  out  of  his  head.  Well,  it 's 
some  satisfaction  to  know  we  did  our  duty  by  the  young 
fellow  even  in  those  little  things."  He  turned  for  confir 
mation  of  their  general  disinterestedness  to  the  Right 
Bower,  but  he  was  already  striding  away,  uneasily  con 
scious  of  the  lazy  following  of  the  Left  Bower,  like  a 
laggard  conscience  at  his  back.  This  movement  again 
threw  Union  Mills  and  the  Judge  into  feeble  complicity 
in  the  rear,  as  the  procession  slowly  straggled  homeward 
from  the  creek. 

Night  had  fallen.  Their  way  lay  through  the  shadow 
of  Lone  Star  Mountain,  deepened  here  and  there  by  the 
slight,  bosky  ridges  that,  starting  from  its  base,  crept 
across  the  plain  like  vast  roots  of  its  swelling  trunk.  The 
shadows  were  growing  blacker  as  the  moon  began  to 
assert  itself  over  the  rest  of  the  valley,  when  the  Right 
Bower  halted  suddenly  on  one  of  these  ridges.  The  Left 
Bower  lounged  up  to  him  and  stopped  also,  while  the  two 
others  came  up  and  completed  the  group. 

"There  's  no  light  in  the  shanty,"  said  the  Right 
Bower  in  a  low  voice,  half  to  himself  and  half  in  answer 
to  their  inquiring  attitude.  The  men  followed  the  direc 
tion  of  his  finger.  In  the  distance  the  black  outline  of 
the  Lone  Star  cabin  stood  out  distinctly  in  the  illumined 
space.  There  was  the  blank,  sightless,  external  glitter 
of  moonlight  on  its  two  windows  that  seemed  to  reflect 
its  dim  vacancy,  empty  alike  of  light  and  warmth  and 
motion. 

"  That  's  sing'lar,"  said  the  Judge  in  an  awed  whisper. 

The  Left  Bower,  by  simply  altering  the  position  of  his 
hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  managed  to  suggest  that 
he  knew  perfectly  the  meaning  of  it,  had  always  known 
it ;  but  that  being  now,  so  to  speak,  in  the  hands  of 
Fate,  he  was  callous  to  it.  This  much,  at  least,  the  elder 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.    361 

brother  read  in  his  attitude.  But  anxiety  at  that  moment 
was  the  controlling  impulse  of  the  Right  Bower,  as  a 
certain  superstitious  remorse  was  the  instinct  of  the  two 
others,  and  without  heeding  the  cynic,  the  three  started  at 
a  rapid  pace  for  the  cabin. 

They  reached  it  silently,  as  the  moon,  now  riding  high 
in  the  heavens,  seemed  to  touch  it  with  the  tender  grace 
and  hushed  repose  of  a  tomb.  It  was  with  something  of 
this  feeling  that  the  Right  Bower  softly  pushed  open  the 
door ;  it  was  with  something  of  this  dread  that  the  two 
others  lingered  on  the  threshold,  until  the  Right  Bower, 
after  vainly  trying  to  stir  the  dead  embers  on  the  hearth 
into  life  with  his  foot,  struck  a  match  and  lit  their  solitary 
candle.  Its  flickering  light  revealed  the  familiar  interior 
unchanged  in  aught  but  one  thing.  The  bunk  that  the 
Old  Man  had  occupied  was  stripped  of  its  blankets  ;  the 
few  cheap  ornaments  and  photographs  were  gone ;  the 
rude  poverty  of  the  bare  boards  and  scant  pallet  looked 
up  at  them  unrelieved  by  the  bright  face  and  gracious 
youth  that  had  once  made  them  tolerable.  In  the  grim 
irony  of  that  exposure,  their  own  penury  was  doubly 
conscious.  The  little  knapsack,  the  tea-cup  and  coffee-pot 
that  had  hung  near  his  bed,  were  gone  also.  The  most 
indignant  protest,  the  most  pathetic  of  the  letters  he  had 
composed  and  rejected,  whose  torn  fragments  still  littered 
the  floor,  could  never  have  spoken  with  the  eloquence  of 
this  empty  space !  The  men  exchanged  no  words ;  the 
solitude  of  the  cabin,  instead  of  drawing  them  together, 
seemed  to  isolate  each  one  in  selfish  distrust  of  the  others. 
Even  the  unthinking  garrulity  of  Union  Mills  and  the 
Judge  was  checked.  A  moment  later,  when  the  Left 
Bower  entered  the  cabin,  his  presence  was  scarcely 
noticed. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  a  joyous  exclamation  from 
the  Judge.  He  had  discovered  the  Old  Man's  rifle  in  the 


362    Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

corner,  where  it  had  been  at  first  overlooked...  "  He  ain't 
gone  yet,  gentlemen  —  for  yer  's  his  rifle,"  he  broke  in, 
with  a  feverish  return  of  volubility,  and  a  high  excited 
falsetto.  "  He  would  n't  have  left  this  behind.  No  !  I 
knowed  it  from  the  first.  He  's  just  outside  a  bit,  forag 
ing  for  wood  and  water.  No,  sir !  Coming  along  here  I 
said  to  Union  Mills  —  did  n't  I  ?  — '  Bet  your  life  the  Old 
Man 's  not  far  off,  even  if  he  ain't  in  the  cabin.'  Why, 
the  moment  I  stepped  foot  "  — 

"  And  I  said  coming  along,"  interrupted  Union  Mills, 
with  equally  reviving  mendacity,  '  Like  as  not  he 's  hang- 
in'  round  yer  and  lyin'  low  just  to  give  us  a  surprise.'  He  ! 
ho!" 

"  He  's  gone  for  good,  and  he  left  that  rifle  here  on 
purpose,"  said  the  Left  Bower  in  a  low  voice,  taking  the 
weapon  almost  tenderly  in  his  hands. 

"  Drop  it,  then  !  "  said  the  Right  Bower.  The  voice 
was  that  of  his  brother,  but  suddenly  changed  with  pas 
sion.  The  two  other  partners  drew  back  in  alarm. 

"I'll  not  leave  it  here  for  the  first  comer,"  said  the 
Left  Bower,  calmly,  "  because  we  've  been  fools  and  he 
too.  It 's  too  good  a  weapon  for  that." 

"  Drop  it,  I  say !  "  said  the  Right  Bower,  with  a  savage 
stride  towards  him. 

The  younger  brother  brought  the  rifle  to  a  half  charge 
with  a  white  face  but  a  steady  eye. 

"  Stop  where  you  are  !  "  he  said  collectedly.  "  Don't 
row  with  me,  because  you  have  n't  either  the  grit  to  stick 
to  your  ideas  or  the  heart  to  confess  them  wrong.  We  Ve 
followed  your  lead,  and  —  here  we  are  !  The  camp 's 
broken  up  —  the  Old  Man  's  gone  —  and  we  're  going. 
And  as  for  the  d— d  rifle  "  — 

"  Drop  it,  do  you  hear  ! "  shouted  the  Right  Bower, 
clinging  to  that  one  idea  with  the  blind  pertinacity  of 
rage  and  a  losing  cause.  "  Drop  it !  " 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.    363 

The  Left  Bower  drew  back,  but  his  brother  had  seized 
the  barrel  with  both  hands.  There  was  a  momentary 
struggle,  a  flash  through  the  half-lighted  cabin,  and  a 
shattering  report.  The  two  men  fell  back  from  each 
other ;  the  rifle  dropped  on  the  floor  between  them. 

The  whole  thing  was  over  so  quickly  that  the  other 
two  partners  had  not  had  time  to  obey  their  common  im 
pulse  to  separate  them,  and  consequently  even  now  could 
scarcely  understand  what  had  passed.  It  was  over  so 
quickly  that  the  two  actors  themselves  walked  back  to 
their  places,  scarcely  realizing  their  own  act. 

A  dead  silence  followed.  The  Judge  and  Union  Mills 
looked  at  each  other  in  dazed  astonishment,  and  then 
nervously  set  about  their  former  habits,  apparently  in  that 
fatuous  belief  common  to  such  natures,  that  they  were 
ignoring  a  painful  situation.  The  Judge  drew  the  barrel 
towards  him,  picked  up  the  cards,  and  began  mechanically 
to  "  make  a  patience,"  on  which  Union  Mills  gazed  with 
ostentatious  interest,  but  with  eyes  furtively  conscious  of 
the  rigid  figure  of  the  Right  Bower  by  the  chimney  and 
the  abstracted  face  of  the  Left  Bower  at  the  door.  Ten 
minutes  had  passed  in  this  occupation,  the  Judge  and 
Union  Mills  conversing  in  the  furtive  whispers  of  chil 
dren  unavoidably  but  fascinatedly  present  at  a  family 
quarrel,  when  a  light  step  was  heard  upon  the  crackling 
brushwood  outside,  and  the  bright  panting  face  of  the  Old 
Man  appeared  upon  the  threshold.  There  was  a  shout 
of  joy ;  in  another  moment  he  was  half-buried  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Right  Bower's  shirt,  half-dragged  into  the 
lap  of  the  Judge,  upsetting  the  barrel,  and  completely  en 
compassed  by  the  Left  Bower  and  Union  Mills.  With 
the  enthusiastic  utterance  of  his  name  the  spell  was 
broken. 

Happily  unconscious  of  the  previous  excitement  that 
had  provoked  this  spontaneous  unanimity  of  greeting,  the 


364    Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

Old  Man,  equally  relieved,  at  once  broke  into  a  feverish 
announcement  of  his  discovery.  He  painted  the  details 
with,  I  fear,  a  slight  exaggeration  of  coloring,  due  partly 
to  his  own  excitement,  and  partly  to  justify  their  own. 
But  he  was  strangely  conscious  that  these  bankrupt  men 
appeared  less  elated  with  their  personal  interest  in  their 
stroke  of  fortune  than  with  his  own  success.  "  I  told 
you  he'd  do  it,"  said  the  Judge,  with  a  reckless  unscru- 
pulousness  of  the  statement  that  carried  everybody  with 
it ;  "  look  at  him  !  the  game  little  pup."  "  Oh,  no  !  he 
ain't  the  right  breed,  is  he  ?  "  echoed  Union  Mills  with 
arch  irony,  while  the  Right  and  Left  Bower,  grasping 
either  hand,  pressed  a  proud  but  silent  greeting  that 
was  half  new  to  him,  but  wholly  delicious.  It  was  not 
without  difficulty  that  he  could  at  last  prevail  upon 
them  to  return  with  him  to  the  scene  of  his  discovery, 
or  even  then  restrain  them  from  attempting  to  carry  him 
thither  on  their  shoulders  on  the  plea  of  his  previous 
prolonged  exertions.  Once  only  there  was  a  momentary 
embarrassment.  "  Then  you  fired  that  shot  to  bring  me 
back  ? "  said  the  Old  Man,  gratefully.  In  the  awkward 
silence  that  followed,  the  hands  of  the  two  brothers  sought 
and  grasped  each  other,  penitently.  "Yes,"  interposed 
the  Judge  with  delicate  tact,  "  ye  see  the  Right  and  Left 
Bower  almost  quarreled  to  see  which  should  be  the  first 
to  fire  for  ye.  I  disremember  which  did  "  —  "I  never 
touched  the  trigger,"  said  the  Left  Bower,  hastily.  With 
a  hurried  backward  kick,  the  Judge  resumed,  "  It  went 
off  sorter  spontaneous." 

The  difference  in  the  sentiment  of  the  procession  that 
once  more  issued  from  the  Lone  Star  cabin  did  not  fail 
to  show  itself  in  each  individual  partner  according  to  his 
temperament.  The  subtle  tact  of  Union  Mills,  however, 
in  expressing  an  awakened  respect  for  their  fortunate 
partner  by  addressing  him,  as  if  unconsciously,  as  "  Mr. 


Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain.    365 

Ford  "  was  at  first  discomposing,  but  even  this  was  for 
gotten  in  their  breathless  excitement  as  they  neared  the 
base  of  the  mountain.  When  they  had  crossed  the  creek 
the  Right  Bower  stopped  reflectively. 

"  You  say  you  heard  the  slide  come  down  before  you 
left  the  cabin  ? "  he  said,  turning  to  the  Old  Man. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  did  not  know  then  what  it  was.  It  was 
about  an  hour  and  a  half  after  you  left,"  was  the  reply. 

"Then  look  here,  boys,"  continued  the  Right  Bower 
with  superstitious  exultation ;  "  it  was  the  slide  that  tum 
bled  into  the  creek,  overflowed  it,  and  helped  us  clear  out 
the  race !  " 

It  seemed  so  clear  that  Providence  had  taken  the  part 
ners  of  the  Lone  Star  directly  in  hand  that  they  faced  the 
toilsome  ascent  of  the  mountain  with  the  assurance  of 
conquerors.  They  paused  only  on  the  summit  to  allow 
the  Old  Man  to  lead  the  way  to  the  slope  that  held  their 
treasure.  He  advanced  cautiously  to  the  edge  of  the 
crumbling  cliff,  stopped,  looked  bewildered,  advanced 
again,  and  then  remained  white  and  immovable.  In  an 
instant  the  Right  Bower  was  at  his  side. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  ?  Don't  —  don't  look  so,  Old 
Man,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

The  Old  Man  pointed  to  the  dull,  smooth,  black  side  of 
the  mountain,  without  a  crag,  break,  or  protuberance,  and 
said  with  ashen  lips  : 

"It's  gone!" 

And  it  was  gone  !  A  second  slide  had  taken  place, 
stripping  the  flank  of  the  mountain,  and  burying  the 
treasure  and  the  weak  implement  that  had  marked  its 
side  deep  under  a  chaos  of  rock  and  de'bris  at  its  base. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  The  blank  faces  of  his  companions 
turned  quickly  to  the  Right  Bower.  "  Thank  God  !  "  he 
repeated,  with  his  arm  round  the  neck  of  the  Old  Man. 


366     Left  Out  on  Lone  Star  Mountain. 

"  Had  he  stayed  behind  he  would  have  been  buried  too." 
He  paused,  and,  pointing  solemnly  to  the  depths  below, 
said,  "  And  thank  God  for  showing  us  where  we  may  yet 
labor  for  it  in  hope  and  patience  like  honest  men." 

The  men  silently  bowed  their  heads  and  slowly  de 
scended  the  mountain.  But  when  they  had  reached  the 
plain,  one  of  them  called  out  to  the  others  to  watch  a  star 
that  seemed  to  be  rising  and  moving  towards  them  over 
the  hushed  and  sleeping  valley. 

"  It 's  only  the  stage-coach,  boys,"  said  the  Left  Bower, 
smiling ;  "  the  coach  that  was  to  take  us  away." 

In  the  security  of  their  new-found  fraternity  they  re 
solved  to  wait  and  see  it  pass.  As  it  swept  by  with  flash 
of  light,  beat  of  hoofs,  and  jingle  of  harness,  the  only 
real  presence  in  the  dreamy  landscape,  the  driver  shouted 
a  hoarse  greeting  to  the  phantom  partners,  audible  only 
to  the  Judge,  who  was  nearest  the  vehicle. 

"  Did  you  hear  —  did  you  hear  what  he  said,  boys?" 
he  gasped,  turning  to  his  companions.  "  No  ?  Shake 
hands  all  round,  boys  !  God  bless  you  all,  boys  !  To 
think  we  did  n't  know  it  all  this  while !  " 

"  Know  what  ?  " 

"  Merry  Christmas !  " 


of  '49, 


IT  had  rained  so  persistently  in  San  Francisco  during 
the  first  week  of  January,  1854,  that  a  certain  quagmire 
in  the  roadway  of  Long  Wharf  had  become  impassable, 
and  a  plank  was  thrown  over  its  dangerous  depth.  In 
deed,  so  treacherous  was  the  spot  that  it  was  alleged,  on 
good  authority,  that  a  hastily  embarking  traveler  had 
once  hopelessly  lost  his  portmanteau,  and  was  fain  to 
dispose  of  his  entire  interest  in  it  for  the  sum  of  two  dol 
lars  and  fifty  cents  to  a  speculative  stranger  on  the  wharf. 
As  the  stranger's  search  was  rewarded  afterwards  only 
by  the  discovery  of  the  body  of  a  casual  Chinaman,  who 
had  evidently  endeavored  wickedly  to  anticipate  him,  a 
feeling  of  commercial  insecurity  was  added  to  the  other 
eccentricities  of  the  locality. 

The  plank  led  to  the  door  of  a  building  that  was  a 
marvel  even  in  the  chaotic  frontier  architecture  of  the 
street.  The  houses  on  either  side  —  irregular  frames  of 
wood  or  corrugated  iron  —  bore  evidence  of  having  been 
quickly  thrown  together,  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the 
goods  and  passengers  who  were  once  disembarked  on 
what  was  the  muddy  beach  of  the  infant  city.  But  the 
building  in  question  exhibited  a  certain  elaboration  of 
form  and  design  utterly  inconsistent  with  this  idea.  The 
structure  obtruded  a  bowed  front  to  the  street,  with  a 
curving  line  of  small  windows,  surmounted  by  elaborate 
carvings  and  scroll  work  of  vines  and  leaves,  while  be 
low,  in  faded  gilt  letters,  appeared  the  legend  "  Pontiac 
—  Marseilles."  The  effect  of  this  incongruity  was  start- 


368  A  Ship  of  Vp- 

ling.  It  is  related  that  an  inebriated  miner,  impeded  by 
mud  and  drink  before  its  door,  was  found  gazing  at  its 
remarkable  fa£ade  with  an  expression  of  the  deepest 
despondency.  "  I  hev  lived  a  free  life,  pardner,"  he  ex 
plained  thickly  to  the  Samaritan  who  succored  him,  "  and 
every  time  since  I  Ve  been  on  this  six  weeks'  jamboree 
might  have  kalkilated  it  would  come  to  this.  Snakes 
I  Ve  seen  afore  now,  and  rats  I  'm  not  unfamiliar  with, 
but  when  it  comes  to  the  starn  of  a  ship  risin'  up  out  of 
the  street,  I  reckon  it 's  time  to  pass  in  my  checks." 

"  It  is  a  ship,  you  blasted  old  soaker,"  said  the  Sama 
ritan  curtly. 

It  was  indeed  a  ship.  A  ship  run  ashore  and  aban 
doned  on  the  beach  years  before  by  her  gold-seeking  crew, 
with  the  debris  of  her  scattered  stores  and  cargo,  over 
taken  by  the  wild  growth  of  the  strange  city  and  the  rec 
lamation  of  the  muddy  flat,  wherein  she  lay  hopelessly 
imbedded ;  her  retreat  cut  off  by  wharves  and  quays  and 
breakwater,  jostled  at  first  by  sheds,  ancl  then  impacted 
in  a  block  of  solid  warehouses  and  dwellings,  her  rudder, 
port,  and  counter  boarded  in,  and  now  gazing  hopelessly 
through  her  cabin  windows  upon  the  busy  street  before 
her.  But  still  a  ship  despite  her  transformation.  The 
faintest  line  of  contour  yet  left  visible  spoke  of  the  buoy 
ancy  of  another  element ;  the  balustrade  of  her  roof  was 
unmistakably  a  taffrail.  The  rain  slipped  from  her  swell 
ing  sides  with  a  certain  lingering  touch  of  the  sea ;  the 
soil  around  her  was  still  treacherous  with  its  suggestions, 
and  even  the  wind  whistled  nautically  over  her  chimney. 
If,  in  the  fury  of  some  southwesterly  gale,  she  had  one 
night  slipped  her  strange  moorings  and  left  a  shining 
track  through  the  lower  town  to  the  distant  sea,  no  one 
would  have  been  surprised. 

Least  of  all,  perhaps,  her  present  owner  and  possessor, 
Mr.  Abner  Nott.  For  by  the  irony  of  circumstances,  Mr. 


A  Skip  of  '49.  369 

Nott  was  a  Far  Western  farmer  who  had  never  seen  a 
ship  before,  nor  a  larger  stream  of  water  than  a  tributary 
of  the  Missouri  River.  In  a  spirit,  half  of  fascination, 
half  of  speculation,  he  had  bought  her  at  the  time  of  her 
abandonment,  and  had  since  mortgaged  his  ranch  at 
Petaluma  with  his  live  stock,  to  defray  the  expenses  of 
filling  in  the  land  where  she  stood,  and  the  improve 
ments  of  the  vicinity.  He  had  transferred  his  household 
goods  and  his  only  daughter  to  her  cabin,  and  had  di 
vided  the  space  "  between  decks "  and  her  hold  into 
lodging-rooms,  and  lofts  for  the  storage  of  goods.  It 
could  hardly  be  said  that  the  investment  had  been  pro 
fitable.  His  tenants  vaguely  recognized  that  his  occu 
pancy  was  a  sentimental  rather  than  a  commercial  specu 
lation,  and  often  generously  lent  themselves  to  the  illusion 
by  not  paying  their  rent.  Others  treated  their  own  ten 
ancy  as  a  joke,  —  a  quaint  recreation  born  of  the  child 
like  familiarity  .of  frontier  intercourse.  A  few  had  left  ; 
carelessly  abandoning  their  unsalable  goods  to  their  land 
lord,  with  great  cheerfulness  and  a  sense  of  favor.  Oc 
casionally  Mr.  Abner  Nott,  in  a  practical  relapse,  raged 
against  the  derelicts,  and  talked  of  dispossessing  them, 
or  even  dismantling  his  tenement,  but  he  was  easily 
placated  by  a  compliment  to  the  "dear  old  ship,"  or  an 
effort  made  by  some  tenant  to  idealize  his  apartment. 
A  photographer  who  had  ingeniously  utilized  the  fore 
castle  for  a  gallery  (accessible  from  the  bows  in  the  next 
street),  paid  no  further  tribute  than  a  portrait  of  the 
pretty  face  of  Rosey  Nott.  The  superstitious  reverence 
in  which  Abner  Nott  held  his  monstrous  fancy  was  nat 
urally  enhanced  by  his  purely  bucolic  exaggeration  of  its 
real  functions  and  its  native  element.  "  This  yer  keel 
has  sailed,  and  sailed,  and  sailed,"  he  would  explain  with 
some  incongruity  of  illustration,  "  in  a  bee  line,  makin' 
tracks  for  days  runnin'.  I  reckon  more  storms  and  bliz- 


370  A  Ship  of  '49. 

zards  hez  tackled  her  than  you  ken  shake  a  stick  at. 
She  's  stampeded  whales  afore  now,  and  sloshed  round 
with  pirates  and  freebooters  in  and  outer  the  Spanish 
Main,  and  across  lots  from  Marcelleys  where  she  was 
rared.  And  yer  she  sits  peaceful-like  just  ez  if  she  'd 
never  been  outer  a  pertater  patch,  and  had  n't  ploughed 
the  sea  with  fo'sails  and  studdin'  sails  and  them  things 
cavortin'  round  her  masts." 

Abner  Nott's  enthusiasm  was  shared  by  his  daughter, 
but  with  more  imagination,  and  an  intelligence  stimulated 
by  the  scant  literature  of  her  father's  emigrant  wagon  and 
the  few  books  found  on  the  cabin  shelves.  But  to  her 
the  strange  shell  she  inhabited  suggested  more  of  the 
great  world  than  the  rude,  chaotic  civilization  she  saw 
from  the  cabin  windows  or  met  in  the  persons  of  her  fa 
ther's  lodgers.  Shut  up  for  days  in  this  quaint  tenement, 
she  had  seen  it  change  from  the  enchanted  playground 
of  her  childish  fancy  to  the  theater  of  her  active  maiden 
hood,  but  without  losing  her  ideal  romance  in  it.  She 
had  translated  its  history  in  her  own  way,  read  its  quaint 
nautical  hieroglyphics  after  her  own  fashion,  and  pos 
sessed  herself  of  its  secrets.  She  had  in  fancy  made 
voyages  in  it  to  foreign  lands,  had  heard  the  accents  of  a 
softer  tongue  on  its  decks,  and  on  summer  nights,  from 
the  roof  of  the  quarter-deck,  had  seen  mellower  constella 
tions  take  the  place  of  the  hard  metallic  glitter  of  the 
Californian  skies.  Sometimes,  in  her  isolation,  the  long, 
cylindrical  vault  she  inhabited  seemed,  like  some  vast 
sea-shell,  to  become  musical  with  the  murmurings  of  the 
distant  sea.  So  completely  had  it  taken  the  place  of  the 
usual  instincts  of  feminine  youth  that  sfce  had  forgotten 
she  was  pretty,  or  that  her  dresses  were  old  in  fashion 
and  scant  in  quantity.  After  the  first  surprise  of  admira 
tion  her  father's  lodgers  ceased  to  follow  the  abstracted 
nymph  except  with  their  eyes,  —  partly  respecting  her 


A  Ship  of  '49.  371 

spiritual  shyness,  partly  respecting  the  jealous  supervi 
sion  of  the  paternal  Nott.  She  seldom  penetrated  the 
crowded  center  of  the  growing  city ;  her  rare  excursions 
were  confined  to  the  old  ranch  at  Petaluma,  whence  she 
brought  flowers  and  plants,  and  even  extemporized  a 
hanging-garden  on  the  quarter-deck. 

It  was  still  raining,  and  the  wind,  which  had  increased 
to  a  gale,  was  dashing  the  drops  against  the  slanting 
cabin  windows  with  a  sound  like  spray  when  Mr.  Abner 
Nott  sat  before  a  table  seriously  engaged  with  his  ac 
counts.  For  it  was  "  steamer  night,"  —  as  that  momen 
tous  day  of  reckoning  before  the  sailing  of  the  regular 
mail  steamer  was  briefly  known  to  commercial  San  Fran 
cisco,  —  and  Mr.  Nott  was  subject  at  such  times  to 
severely  practical  relapses.  A  swinging  light  seemed  to 
bring  into  greater  relief  that  peculiar  encased  casket-like 
security  of  the  low-timbered,  tightly-fitting  apartment, 
with  its  toy-like  utilities  of  space,  and  made  the  pretty 
oval  face  of  Rosey  Nott  appear  a  characteristic  ornament. 
The  sliding  door  of  the  cabin  communicated  with  the 
main  deck,  now  roofed  in  and  partitioned  off  so  as  to 
form  a  small  passage  that  led  to  the  open  starboard  gang 
way,  where  a  narrow,  enclosed  staircase  built  on  the  ship's 
side  took  the  place  of  the  ship's  ladder  under  her  coun 
ter,  and  opened  in  the  street. 

A  dash  of  rain  against  the  window  caused  Rosey  to  lift 
her  eyes  from  her  book. 

"It  's  much  nicer  here  than  at  the  ranch,  father,"  she 
said  coaxingly,  "  even  leaving  alone  its  being  a  beautiful 
ship  instead  of  a  shanty  ;  the  wind  don't  whistle  through 
the  cracks  and  blow  out  the  candle  when  you  're  reading, 
nor  the  rain  spoil  your  things  hung  up  against  the  wall. 
And  you  look  more  like  a  gentleman  sitting  in  his  own 
—  ship  —  you  know,  looking  over  his  bills  and  getting 
ready  to  give  his  orders." 


372  A  Ship  of  Vp. 

Vague  and  general  as  Miss  Rosey's  compliment  was, 
it  had  its  full  effect  upon  her  father,  who  was  at  times 
dimly  conscious  of  his  hopeless  rusticity  and  its  incon 
gruity  with  his  surroundings.  "  Yes,"  he  said  awkwardly, 
with  a  slight  relaxation  of  his  aggressive  attitude  ;  "  yes, 
in  course  it  's  more  bang-up  style,  but  it  don't  pay  — 
Rosey —  it  don't  pay.  Yer  's  the  Pontiac  that  oughter  be 
bringin'  in,  ez  rents  go,  at  least  three  hundred  a  month, 
don't  make  her  taxes.  I  bin  thinkin'  seriously  of  sellin' 
her." 

As  Rosey  knew  her  father  had  experienced  this  serious 
contemplation  on  the  first  of  every  month  for  the  last  two 
years,  and  cheerfully  ignored  it  the  next  day,  she  only 
said,  "  I  'm  sure  the  vacant  rooms  and  lofts  are  all  rented, 
father." 

"  That 's  it,"  returned  Mr.  Nott  thoughtfully,  plucking 
at  his  bushy  whiskers  with  his  fingers  and  thumb  as  if  he 
were  removing  dead  and  sapless  incumbrances  in  their 
growth,  "  that 's  just  what  it  is  —  them  's  ez  in  it  them 
selves  don't  pay,  and  them  ez  haz  left  their  goods  —  the 
goods  don't  pay.  The  feller  ez  stored  them  iron  sugar 
kettles  in  the  forehold,  after  trying  to  get  me  to  make 
another  advance  on  'em,  sez  he  believes  he  '11  have  to 
sacrifice  'em  to  me  after  all,  and  only  begs  I  'd  give  him 
a  chance  of  buying  back  the  half  of  'em  ten  years  from 
now,  at  double  what  I  advanced  him.  The  chap  that  left 
them  five  hundred  cases  of  hair  dye  'tween  decks  and 
then  skipped  out  to  Sacramento,  met  me  the  other  day 
in  the  street  and  advised  me  to  use  a  bottle  ez  an  adver 
tisement,  or  try  it  on  the  starn  of  the  Pontiac  for  fire 
proof  paint.  That  foolishness  ez  all  he  's  good  for.  And 
yet  thar  might  be  suthin'  in  the  paint,  if  a  feller  had 
nigger  luck.  Ther  's  that  New  York  chap  ez  bought  up 
them  damaged  boxes  of  plug  terbakker  for  fifty  dollars  a 
thousand,  and  sold  'em  for  foundations  for  that  new 


A  Ship  of  V?.  373 

building  in  Sansome  Street  at  a  thousand  clear  profit. 
It 's  all  luck  Rosey." 

The  girl's  eyes  had  wandered  again  to  the  pages  of  her 
book.  Perhaps  she  was  already  familiar  with  the  text  of 
her  father's  monologue.  But  recognizing  an  additional 
querulousness  in  his  voice,  she  laid  the  book  aside  and 
patiently  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"  That 's  right  —  for  I  Ve  suthin'  to  tell  ye.  The  fact 
is  Sleight  wants  to  buy  the  Pontiac  out  and  out  just 
ez  she  stands  with  the  two  fifty  vara  lots  she  stands  on." 

"  Sleight  wants  to  buy  her  ?  Sleight  ?  "  echoed  Rosey 
incredulously. 

"  You  bet !  Sleight  —  the  big  financier,  the  smartest 
man  in  'Frisco." 

"  What  does  he  want  to  buy  her  for  ? "  asked  Rosey, 
knitting  her  pretty  brows. 

The  apparently  simple  question  suddenly  puzzled  Mr. 
Nott.  He  glanced  feebly  at  his  daughter's  face,  and 
frowned  in  vacant  irritation.  "  That  's  so,"  he  said, 
drawing  a  long  breath  ;  "  there  's  suthin'  in  that." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  continued  the  young  girl,  impa 
tiently. 

"Not  much.  *  You've  got  the  Pontiac,  Nott,'  sez  he. 
*  You  bet ! '  sez  I.  '  What  '11  you  take  for  her  and  the  lot 
she  stands  on  ? '  sez  he,  short  and  sharp.  Some  fellers, 
Rosey,"  said  Nott,  with  a  cunning  smile,  "  would  hev 
blurted  out  a  big  figger  and  been  cotched.  That  ain't  my 
style.  I  just  looked  at  him.  *  I  '11  wait  fur  your  figgers 
until  next  steamer  day,'  sez  he,  and  off  he  goes  like  a 
shot.  He  's  awfully  sharp,  Rosey." 

"  But  if  he  is  sharp,  father,  and  he  really  wants  to  buy 
the  ship,"  returned  Rosey,  thoughtfully,  "  it 's  only  be 
cause  he  knows  it 's  valuable  property,  and  not  because 
he  likes  it  as  we  do.  He  can't  take  that  value  away  even 
if  we  don't  sell  it  to  him,  and  all  the  while  we  have  the 
comfort  of  the  dear  old  Pontiac,  don't  you  see  ? " 


374  A  Ship  of  Vp. 

This  exhaustive  commercial  reasoning  was  so  sympa 
thetic  to  Mr.  Nott's  instincts  that  he  accepted  it  as  con 
clusive.  He,  however,  deemed  it  wise  to  stiff  preserve  his 
practical  attitude.  "  But  that  don't  make  it  pay  by  the 
month,  Rosey.  Suthin'  must  be  done.  I  'm  thinking  I  '11 
clean  out  that  photographer." 

"  Not  just  after  he  's  taken  such  a  pretty  view  of  the 
cabin  front  of  the  Pontiac  from  the  street,  father  !  No  ! 
He  's  going  to  give  us  a  copy,  and  put  the  other  in  a 
shop  window  in  Montgomery  Street." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Mr.  Nott,  musingly  ;  "  it 's  no  slouch 
of  an  advertisement.  '  The  Pontiac,'  the  property  of  A. 
Nott,  Esq.,  of  St.  Jo,  Missouri.  Send  it  on  to  your  aunt 
Phoebe  ;  sorter  make  the  old  folks  open  their  eyes  —  oh? 
Well,  seein'  he  's  been  to  some  expense  fittin'  up  an 
entrance  from  the  other  street,  we  '11  let  him  slide.  But 
as  to  that  d — d  old  Frenchman  Ferrers,  in  the  next  loft, 
with  his  stuck-up  airs  and  high-falutin  style,  we  must  get 
quit  of  him ;  he  's  regularly  gouged  me  in  that  ere  horse 
hair  spekilation." 

"  How  can  you  say  that,  father  ! "  said  Rosey,  with  a 
slight  increase  of  color.  "  It  was  your  own  offer.  You 
know  those  bales  of  curled  horsehair  were  left  behind 
by  the  late  tenant  to  pay  his  rent.  When  Mr.  De  Fer- 
rieres  rented  the  room  afterwards,  you  told  him  you  'd 
throw  them  in  in  the  place  of  repairs  and  furniture.  It 
was  your  own  offer." 

"  Yes,  but  I  did  n't  reckon  ther  'd  ever  be  a  big  price 
per  pound  paid  for  the  darned  stuff  for  sofys  and  cushions 
and  sich." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  knew  it,  father  ? "  responded 
Rosey. 

"  Then  why  did  he  look  so  silly  at  first,  and  then  put 
on  airs  when  I  joked  him  about  it,  eh  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  did  n't  understand  your  joking,  father. 


A  Ship  of  '49.  375 

He  's  a  foreigner,  and  shy  and  proud,  and  —  not  like  the 
others.  I  don't  think  he  knew  what  you  meant  then,  any 
more  than  he  believed  he  was  making  a  bargain  before. 
He  may  be  poor,  but  I  think  he  's  been  —  a  —  a —  gen 
tleman." 

The  young  girl's  animation  penetrated  even  Mr.  Nott's 
slow  comprehension.  Her  novel  opposition,  and  even 
the  prettiness  it  enhanced,  gave  him  a  dull  premonition 
of  pain.  His  small  round  eyes  became  abstracted,  his 
mouth  remained  partly  open,  even  his  fresh  color  slightly 
paled. 

"  You  seem  to  have  been  takin'  stock  of  this  yer  man, 
Rosey,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  archness  ;  "  if 
he  war  n't  ez  old  ez  a  crow,  for  all  his  young  feathers,  I  'd 
think  he  was  makin'  up  to  you." 

But  the  passing  glow  had  faded  from  her  young  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  wandered  again  to  her  book.  "  He  pays 
his  rent  regularly  every  steamer  night,"  she  said,  quietly, 
as  if  dismissing  an  exhausted  subject,  "  and  he  '11  be  here 
in  a  moment,  I  dare  say."  She  took  up  her  book,  and 
leaning  her  head  on  her  hand,  once  more  became  absorbed 
in  its  pages. 

An  uneasy  silence  followed.  The  rain  beat  against 
the  windows,  the  ticking  of  a  clock  became  audible,  but 
still  Mr.  Nott  sat  with  vacant  eyes  fixed  on  his  daughter's 
face,  and  the  constrained  smile  on  his  lips.  He  was  con 
scious  that  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  pretty  before, 
yet  he  could  not  tell  why  this  was  no  longer  an  unalloyed 
satisfaction.  Not  but  that  he  had  always  accepted  the 
admiration  of  others  for  her  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  for 
the  first  time  he  became  conscious  that  she  not  only  had 
an  interest  in  others,  but  apparently  a  superior  knowledge 
of  them.  How  did  she  know  these  things  about  this 
man,  and  why  had  she  only  now  accidentally  spoken  of 
them  ?  He  would  have  done  so.  All  this  passed  so 


376  A   Ship  of  "49. 

vaguely  through  his  unreflective  mind,  that  he  was  unable 
to  retain  any  decided  impression,  but  the  far-reaching 
one  that  his  lodger  had  obtained  some  occult  influence 
over  her  through  the  exhibition  of  his  baleful  skill  in  the 
horsehair  speculation.  "  Them  tricks  is  likely  to  take  a 
young  girl's  fancy.  I  must  look  arter  her,"  he  said  to 
himself  softly. 

A  slow  regular  step  in  the  gangway  interrupted  his  pa 
ternal  reflections.  Hastily  buttoning  across  his  chest  the 
pea-jacket  which  he  usually  wore  at  home  as  a  single  con 
cession  to  his  nautical  surroundings,  he  drew  himself  up 
with  something  of  the  assumption  of  a  shipmaster,  despite 
certain  bucolic  suggestions  of  his  boots  and  legs.  The 
footsteps  approached  nearer,  and  a  tall  figure  suddenly 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

It  was  a  figure  so  extraordinary  that  even  in  the  strange 
masquerade  of  that  early  civilization  it  was  remarkable ; 
a  figure  with  whom  father  and  daughter  were  already  fa 
miliar  without  abatement  of  wonder  —  the  figure  of  a  reju 
venated  old  man,  padded,  powdered,  dyed,  and  painted  to 
the  verge  of  caricature,  but  without  a  single  suggestion  of 
ludicrousness  or  humor.  A  face  so  artificial  that  it  seemed 
almost  a  mask,  but,  like  a  mask,  more  pathetic  than  amus 
ing.  He  was  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion  of  a 
dozen  years  before;  his  pearl -gray  trousers  strapped 
tightly  over  his  varnished  boots,  his  voluminous  satin 
cravat  and  high  collar  embraced  his  rouged  cheeks  and 
dyed  whiskers,  his  closely-buttoned  frock  coat  clinging  to 
a  waist  that  seemed  accented  by  stays. 

He  advanced  two  steps  into  the  cabin  with  an  upright 
precision  of  motion  that  might  have  hid  the  infirmities  of 
age,  and  said  deliberately  with  a  foreign  accent : 

"  You-r-r  ac-coumpt  ?  " 

In  the  actual  presence  of  the  apparition  Mr.  Nott's 
dignified  resistance  wavered.  But  glancing  uneasily  at 


A  Ship  of  Vp.  377 

his  daughter  and  seeing  her  calm  eyes  fixed  on  the 
speaker  without  embarrassment,  he  folded  his  arms 
stiffly,  and  with  a  lofty  simulation  of  examining  the  ceil 
ing,  said : 

"  Ahem  !  Rosa  !  The  gentleman's  account." 
It  was  an  infelicitous  action.  For  the  stranger,  who 
evidently  had  not  noticed  the  presence  of  the  young  girl 
before,  started,  took  a  step  quickly  forward,  bent  stiffly 
but  profoundly  over  the  little  hand  that  held  the  account, 
raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  with  "  a  thousand  pardons,  ma 
demoiselle,"  laid  a  small  canvas  bag  containing  the  rent 
before  the  disorganized  Mr.  Nott  and  stiffly  vanished. 

The  night  was  a  troubled  one  to  the  simple-minded 
proprietor  of  the  good  ship  Pontiac.  Unable  to  voice 
his  uneasiness  by  further  discussion,  but  feeling  that  his 
late  discomposing  interview  with  his  lodger  demanded 
some  marked  protest,  he  absented  himself  on  the  plea  of 
business  during  the  rest  of  the  evening,  happily  to  his 
daughter's  utter  obliviousness  of  the  reason.  Lights  were 
burning  brilliantly  in  counting-rooms  and  offices,  the  fe 
verish  life  of  the  mercantile  city  was  at  its  height.  With 
a  vague  idea  of  entering  into  immediate  negotiations 
with  Mr.  Sleight  for  the  sale  of  the  ship  —  as  a  direct 
way  out  of  his  present  perplexity,  he  bent  his  steps 
towards  the  financier's  office,  but  paused  and  turned 
back  before  reaching  the  door.  He  made  his  way  to  the 
wharf  and  gazed  abstractedly  at  the  lights  reflected  in  the 
dark,  tremulous,  jelly-like  water.  But  wherever  he  went 
he  was  accompanied  by  the  absurd  figure  of  his  lodger  — 
a  figure  he  had  hitherto  laughed  at  or  half  pitied,  but 
which  now,  to  his  bewildered  comprehension,  seemed  to 
have  a  fateful  significance.  Here  a  new  idea  seized  him, 
and  he  hurried  back  to  the  ship,  slackening  his  pace  only 
when  he  arrived  at  his  own  doorway.  Here  he  paused 
a  moment  and  slowly  ascended  the  staircase.  When  he 


378  A  Ship  of  Vp. 

reached  the  passage  he  coughed  slightly  and  .paused 
again.  Then  he  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  darkened 
cabin  and  called  softly : 

"  Rosey !  " 

.  "What  is  it,  father?"  said  Rosey's  voice  from  the 
little  state-room  on  the  right  —  Rosey's  own  bower. 

"  Nothing !  "  said  Mr.  Nott,  with  an  affectation  of  lan 
guid  calmness  ;  "  I  only  wanted  to  know  if  you  was  com 
fortable.  It 's  an  awful  busy  night  in  town." 

"Yes,  father." 

"  I  reckon  thar  's  tons  o'  gold  goin'  to  the  States  to 
morrow." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Pretty  comfortable,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Well,  I  '11  browse  round  a  spell,  and  turn  in  myself 
soon." 

"Yes,  father." 

Mr.  Nott  took  down  a  hanging  lantern,  lighted  it,  and 
passed  out  into  the  gangway.  Another  lamp  hung  from 
the  companion  hatch  to  light  the  tenants  to  the  lower 
deck,  whence  he  descended.  This  deck  was  divided  fore 
and  aft  by  a  partitioned  passage,  —  the  lofts  or  apart 
ments  being  lighted  from  the  ports,  and  one  or  two  by  a 
door  cut  through  the  ship's  side  communicating  with  an 
alley  on  either  side.  This  was  the  case  with  the  loft  oc 
cupied  by  Mr.  Nott's  strange  lodger,  which,  besides  a 
door  in  the  passage,  had  this  independent  communication 
with  the  alley.  Nott  had  never  known  him  to  make  use 
of  the  latter  door;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  his  regular 
habit  to  issue  from  his  apartment  at  three  o'clock  every 
afternoon,  dressed  as  he  has  been  described,  stride  de 
liberately  through  the  passage  to  the  upper  deck  and 
thence  into  the  street,  where  his  strange  figure  was  a  fea 
ture  of  the  principal  promenade  for  two  or  three  hours, 


A  Ship  of  '49.  379 

returning  as  regularly  at  eight  o'clock  to  the  ship  and 
the  seclusion  of  his  loft.  Mr.  Not^  paused  before  the 
door,  under  the  pretense  of  throwing  the  light  before  him 
into  the  shadows  of  the  forecastle  :  all  was  silent  within. 
He  was  turning  back  when  he  was  impressed  by  the  reg 
ular  recurrence  of  a  peculiar  rustling  sound  which  he  had 
at  first  referred  to  the  rubbing  of  the  wires  of  the  swing 
ing  lantern  against  his  clothing.  He  set  down  the  light 
and  listened ;  the  sound  was  evidently  on  the  other  side 
of  the  partition  ;  the  sound  of  some  prolonged,  rustling, 
scraping  movement,  with  regular  intervals.  Was  it  due 
to  another  of  Mr.  Nott's  unprofitable  tenants  —  the  rats  ? 
No.  A  bright  idea  flashed  upon  Mr.  Nott's  troubled 
mind.  It  was  De  Ferrieres  snoring !  He  smiled  grimly. 
"  Wonder  if  Rosey  'd  call  him  a  gentleman  if  she  heard 
that,"  he  chuckled  to  himself  as  he  slowly  made  his  way 
back  to  the  cabin  and  the  small  state-room  opposite  to 
his  daughter's.  During  the  rest  of  the  night  he  dreamed 
of  being  compelled  to  give  Rosey  in  marriage  to  his 
lodger,  who  added  insult  to  the  outrage  by  snoring  au 
dibly  through  the  marriage  service. 

Meantime,  in  her  cradle-like  nest  in  her  nautical  bower, 
Miss  Rosey  slumbered  as  lightly.  Waking  from  a  vivid 
dream  of  Venice  —  a  child's  Venice  —  seen  from  the 
swelling  deck  of  the  proudly-riding  Pontiac,  she  was  so 
impressed  as  to  rise  and  cross  on  tiptoe  to  the  little  slant 
ing  port-hole.  Morning  was  already  dawning  over  the 
flat,  straggling  city,  but  from  every  counting-house  and 
magazine  the  votive  tapers  of  the  feverish  worshipers  of 
trade  and  mammon  were  still  flaring  fiercely. 


380  A  Ship  of 


II. 

The  day  following  "  steamer  night "  was  usually  stale 
and  flat  at  San  Francisco.  The  reaction  from  the  fever 
ish  exaltation  of  the  previous  twenty-four  hours  was 
seen  in  the  listless  faces  and  lounging  feet  of  prome- 
naders,  and  was  notable  in  the  deserted  offices  and  ware 
houses  still  redolent  of  last  night's  gas,  and  strewn  with 
the  dead  ashes  of  last  night's  fires.  There  was  a  brief 
pause  before  the  busy  life  which  ran  its  course  from 
"  steamer  day  "  to  steamer  day  was  once  more  taken  up. 
In  that  interval  a  few  anxious  speculators  and  investors 
breathed  freely,  some  critical  situation  was  relieved,  or 
some  impending  catastrophe  momentarily  averted.  In  par 
ticular,  a  singular  stroke  of  good  fortune  that  morning 
befell  Mr.  Nott.  He  not  only  secured  a  new  tenant,  but, 
as  he  sagaciously  believed,  introduced  into  the  Pontiac  a 
counteracting  influence  to  the  subtle  fascinations  of  De 
Ferrieres. 

The  new  tenant  apparently  possessed  a  combination 
of  business  shrewdness  and  brusque  frankness  that 
strongly  impressed  his  landlord.  "  You  see,  Rosey," 
said  Nott,  complacently  describing  the  interview  to  his 
daughter,  "  when  I  sorter  intimated  in  a  keerless  kind  o' 
way  that  sugar  kettles  and  hair  dye  was  about  played 
out  ez  securities,  he  just  planked  down  the  money  for  two 
months  in  advance.  '  There,'  sez  he,  '  that 's  your  secu 
rity —  now  where  's  mine  V  'I  reckon  I  don't  hitch  on, 
pardner,'  sez  I ;  '  security  what  for  ? '  *  'Spose  you  sell 
the  ship  ? '  sez  he,  '  afore  the  two  months  is  up.  I  Ve 
heard  that  old  Sleight  wants  to  buy  her.'  *  Then  you 
gets  back  your  money,'  sez  I.  '  And  lose  my  room,' 
sez  he ;  '  not  much,  old  man.  You  sign  a  paper  that 
whoever  buys  the  ship  inside  o'  two  months  hez  to  buy 


A  Ship  of  Vp-  381 

me  ez  a  tenant  with  it ;  that 's  on  the  square.'  So  I  sign 
the  paper.  It  was  mighty  cute  in  the  young  feller, 
was  n't  it  ?  "  he  said,  scanning  his  daughter's  pretty 
puzzled  face  a  little  anxiously ;  "  and  don't  you  see,  ez 
I  ain't  goin'  to  sell  the  Pontiac,  it's  just  about  ez  cute 
in  me,  eh  ?  He  's  a  contractor  somewhere  around  yer, 
and  wants  to  be  near  his  work.  So  he  takes  the  room 
next  to  the  Frenchman,  that  that  ship-captain  quit  for  the 
mines,  and  succeeds  naterally  to  his  chest  and  things. 
He 's  mighty  peart-looking,  that  young  feller,  Rosey  — 
long  black  mustaches,  all  his  own  color,  Rosey  —  and 
he  's  a  regular  high-stepper,  you  bet.  I  reckon  he 's  not 
only  been  a  gentleman,  but  ez  now.  Some  o'  them  con 
tractors  are  very  high-toned  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  we  have  any  right  to  give  him  the  cap 
tain's  chest,  father,"  said  Rosey ;  "  there  may  be  some 
private  things  in  it.  There  were  some  letters  and  photo 
graphs  in  the  hair-dye  man's  trunk  that  you  gave  the  pho 
tographer." 

"That's  just  it,  Rosey,"  returned  Abner  Nott  with 
sublime  unconsciousness,  "photographs  and  love  letters 
you  can't  sell  for  cash,  and  I  don't  mind  givin'  'em  away, 
if  they  kin  make  a  feller-creature  happy." 

"  But,  father,  have  we  the  right  to  give  'em  away  ?  " 

"They're  collateral  security,  Rosey."  said  her  father 
grimly.  "  Co-la-te-ral,"  he  continued,  emphasizing  each 
syllable  by  tapping  the  fist  of  one  hand  in  the  open  palm 
of  the  other.  "  Co-la-te-ral  is  the  word  the  big  business 
sharps  yer  about  call  'em.  You  can't  get  round  that." 
He  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  as  a  new  idea  seemed  to 
be  painfully  borne  in  his  round  eyes,  continued  cautiously: 
"  Was  that  the  reason  why  you  would  n't  touch  any  of 
them  dresses  from  the  trunks  of  that  opery  gal  ez  ske 
daddled  for  Sacramento  ?  And  yet  them  trunks  I  regu 
larly  bought  at  auction  —  Rosey  —  at  auction,  on  spec— 
and  they  did  n't  realize  the  cost  of  drayage." 


382  A  Skip  of  '49. 

A  slight  color  mounted  to  Rosey's  face.  "  No,"  she 
said,  hastily,  "not  that."  Hesitating  a  moment,  she  then 
drew  softly  to  his  side,  and,  placing  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  turned  his  broad,  foolish  face  towards  her  own. 
"  Father,"  she  began,  "when  mother  died,  would  you  have 
liked  anybody  to  take  her  trunks  and  paw  round  her 
things  and  wear  them  ?  " 

"  When  your  mother  died,  just  this  side  o'  Sweetwater, 
Rosey,"  said  Mr.  Nott,  with  beaming  unconsciousness, 
"  she  had  n't  any  trunks.  I  reckon  she  had  n't  even  an 
extra  gown  hanging  up  in  the  wagin,  'cept  the  petticoat  ez 
she  had  wrapped  around  yer.  It  was  about  ez  much  ez 
we  could  do  to  skirmish  round  with  Injins,  alkali,  and 
cold,  and  we  sorter  forgot  to  dress  for  dinner.  She  never 
thought,  Rosey,  that  you  and  me  would  live  to  be  inhabit- 
in'  a  paliss  of  a  real  ship.  Ef  she  had  she  would  have 
died  a  proud  woman." 

He  turned  his  small,  loving,  boar-like  eyes  upon  her  as 
a  preternaturally  innocent  and  trusting  companion  of 
Ulysses  might  have  regarded  the  transforming  Circe. 
Rosey  turned  away  with  the  faintest  sigh.  The  habitual 
look  of  abstraction  returned  to  her  eyes  as  if  she  had 
once  more  taken  refuge  in  her  own  ideal  world.  Unfor 
tunately  the  change  did  not  escape  either  the  sensitive 
observation  or  the  fatuous  misconception  of  the  sagacious 
parent.  "  Ye  '11  be  mountin'  a  few  furbelows  and  fixins, 
Rosey,  I  reckon,  ez  only  natural.  Mebbee  ye  '11  have  to 
prink  up  a  little  now  that  we  've  got  a  gentleman  con 
tractor  in  the  ship.  I  '11  see  what  I  kin  pick  up  in  Mont 
gomery  Street."  And  indeed  he  succeeded  a  few  hours 
later  in  accomplishing  with  equal  infelicity  his  generous 
design.  When  she  returned  from  her  household  tasks 
she  found  on  her  berth  a  purple  velvet  bonnet  of  extraor 
dinary  make,  and  a  pair  of  white  satin  slippers.  "  They  '11 
do  for  a  start-off,  Rosey,"  he  explained,  "  and  I  got  'em 
at  my  riggers." 


A  Ship  of  Vp.  383 

"  But  I  go  out  so  seldom,  father ;  and  a  bonnet "  — 

"  That  's  so,"  interrupted  Mr.  Nott,  complacently,  "  it 
might  be  jest  ez  well  for  a  young  gal  like  yer  to  appear  ez 
if  she  did  go  out,  or  would  go  out  if  she  wanted  to.  So 
you  kin  be  wearin'  that  ar  headstall  kinder  like  this  even 
ing  when  the  contractor  's  here,  ez  if  you  'd  jest  come  in 
from  lipasear" 

Miss  Rosey  did  not  however  immediately  avail  herself 
of  her  father's  purchase,  but  contented  herself  with  the 
usual  scarlet  ribbon  that  like  a  snood  confined  her  brown 
hair,  when  she  returned  to  her  tasks.  The  space  between 
the  galley  and  the  bulwarks  had  been  her  favorite  resort  in 
summer  when  not  actually  engaged  in  household  work.  It 
was  now  lightly  roofed  over  with  boards  and  tarpaulin 
against  the  winter  rain,  but  still  afforded  her  a  veranda- 
like  space  before  the  galley  door,  where  she  could  read  or 
sew,  looking  over  the  bow  of  the  Pontiac  to  the  tossing 
bay  or  the  farther  range  of  the  Contra  Costa  hills. 

Hither  Miss  Rosey  brought  the  purple  prodigy,  partly 
to  please  her  father,  partly  with  a  view  of  subjecting  it  to 
violent  radical  changes.  But  after  trying  it  on  before  the 
tiny  mirror  in  the  galley  once  or  twice,  her  thoughts  wan 
dered  away,  and  she  fell  into  one  of  her  habitual  reveries 
seated  on  a  little  stool  before  the  galley  door. 

She  was  aroused  from  it  by  the  slight  shaking  and  rat 
tling  of  the  doors  of  a  small  hatch  on  the  deck,  not  a 
dozen  yards  from  where  she  sat.  It  had  been  evidently 
fastened  from  below  during  the  wet  weather,  but  as  she 
gazed,  the  fastenings  were  removed,  the  doors  were  sud 
denly  lifted,  and  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  young  man 
emerged  from  the  deck.  Partly  from  her  father's  descrip 
tion,  and  partly  from  the  impossibility  of  its  being  any 
body  else,  she  at  once  conceived  it  to  be  the  new  lodger. 
She  had  time  to  note  that  he  was  young  and  good-looking, 
graver  perhaps  than  became  his  sudden  pantomimic 


384  A  Ship  of  Vp- 

appearance,  but  before  she  could  observe  him  closely,  he 
had  turned,  closed  the  hatch  with  a  certain  familiar  dex 
terity,  and  walked  slowly  towards  the  bows.  Even  in  her 
slight  bewilderment  she  observed  that  his  step  upon  the 
deck  seemed  different  to  her  father's  or  the  photographer's, 
and  that  he  laid  his  hand  on  various  objects  with  a  half- 
caressing  ease  and  habit.  Presently  he  paused  and 
turned  back,  and  glancing  at  the  galley  door  for  the  first 
time  encountered  her  wondering  eyes. 

It  seemed  so  evident  that  she  had  been  a  curious  spec 
tator  of  his  abrupt  entrance  on  deck  that  he  was  at  first 
disconcerted  and  confused.  But  after  a  second  glance  at 
her  he  appeared  to  resume  his  composure,  and  advanced 
a  little  defiantly  towards  the  galley. 

"  I  suppose  I  frightened  you,  popping  up  the  fore  hatch 
just  now  ?  " 

"  The  what  ? "  asked  Rosey. 

"  The  fore  hatch,"  he  repeated  impatiently,  indicating 
it  with  a  gesture. 

"  And  that 's  the  fore  hatch  ? "  she  said  abstractedly. 
"  You  seem  to  know  ships." 

"  Yes  —  a  little,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  was  below,  and 
unfastened  the  hatch  to  come  up  the  quickest  way  and 
take  a  look  round.  I  Ve  just  hired  a  room  here,"  he 
added  explanatorily. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Rosey  simply  ;  "  you  're  the  con 
tractor  ?  " 

"  The  contractor !  —  oh,  yes !  You  seem  to  know 
it  all." 

"  Father  's  told  me." 

"  Oh,  he  's  your  father  —  Nott  ?  Certainly.  I  see 
now,"  he  continued,  looking  at  her  with  a  half  repressed 
smile.  "  Certainly,  Miss  Nott,  good  morning,"  he  half 
added  and  walked  towards  the  companion-way.  Some 
thing  in  the  direction  of  his  eyes  as  he  turned  away  made 


A  Skip  of  '49.  385 

Rosey  lift  her  hands  to  her  head.  She  had  forgotten  to 
remove  her  father's  baleful  gift. 

She  snatched  it  off  and  ran  quickly  to  the  compan 
ion-way. 

"  Sir !  "  she  called. 

The  young  man  turned  half-way  down  the  steps  and 
looked  up.  There  was  a  faint  color  in  her  cheeks,  and 
her  pretty  brown  hair  was  slightly  disheveled  from  the 
hasty  removal  of  the  bonnet. 

"  Father 's  very  particular  about  strangers  being  on  this 
deck,"  she  said  a  little  sharply. 

"  Oh  —  ah  —  I  'm  sorry  I  intruded." 

"  I  —  I  —  thought  I  'd  tell  you,"  said  Rosey,  frightened 
by  her  boldness  into  a  feeble  anti-climax. 

"  Thank  you." 

She  came  back  slowly  to  the  galley  and  picked  up  the 
unfortunate  bonnet  with  a  slight  sense  of  remorse.  Why 
should  she  feel  angry  with  her  poor  father's  unhappy 
offering  ?  And  what  business  had  this  strange  young  man 
to  use  the  ship  so  familiarly  ?  Yet  she  was  vaguely  con 
scious  that  she  and  her  father,  with  all  their  love  and  their 
domestic  experience  of  it,  lacked  a  certain  instinctive 
ease  in  its  possession  that  the  half  indifferent  stranger 
had  shown  on  first  treading  its  deck.  She  walked  to  the 
hatchway  and  examined  it  with  a  new  interest.  Succeed 
ing  in  lifting  the  hatch,  she  gazed  at  the  lower  deck.  As 
she  already  knew  the  ladder  had  long  since  been  removed 
to  make  room  for  one  of  the  partitions,  the  only  way  the 
stranger  could  have  reached  it  was  by  leaping  to  one  of 
the  rings.  To  make  sure  of  this  she  let  herself  down 
holding  on  to  the  rings,  and  dropped  a  couple  of  feet  to 
the  deck  below.  She  was  in  the  narrow  passage  her 
father  had  penetrated  the  previous  night.  Before  her  was 
the  door  leading  to  De  Ferrieres'  loft,  always  locked.  It 
was  silent  within  ;  it  was  the  hour  when  the  old  French- 


386  A  Ship  of  '49. 

man  made  his  habitual  promenade  in  the  city.  But  the 
light  from  the  newly-opened  hatch  allowed  her  to  see 
more  of  the  mysterious  recesses  of  the  forward  bulkhead 
than  she  had  known  before,  and  she  was  startled  by  ob 
serving  another  yawning  hatchway  at  her  feet  from  which 
the  closely-fitting  door  had  been  lifted,  and  which  the  new 
lodger  had  evidently  forgotten  to  close  again.  The  young 
girl  stooped  down  and  peered  cautiously  into  the  black 
abyss.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen,  nothing  heard  but  the 
distant  gurgle  and  click  of  water  in  some  remoter  depth. 
She  replaced  the  hatch  and  returned  by  way  of  the 
passage  to  the  cabin. 

When  her  father  came  home  that  night  she  briefly  re 
counted  the  .interview  with  the  new  lodger,  and  her  dis 
covery  of  his  curiosity.  She  did  this  with  a  possible 
increase  of  her  usual  shyness  and  abstraction,  and  ap 
parently  more  as  a  duty  than  a  colloquial  recreation. 
But  it  pleased  Mr.  Nott  also  to  give  it  more  than  his 
usual  misconception.  "  Looking  round  the  ship,  was  he 
—  eh,  Rosey  ? "  he  said  with  infinite  archness.  "  In 
course,  kinder  sweepin'  round  the  galley,  and  offerin'  to 
fetch  you  wood  and  water,  eh  ?  "  Even  when  the  young 
girl  had  picked  up  her  book  with  the  usual  faint  smile  of 
affectionate  tolerance,  and  then  drifted  away  in  its  pages, 
Mr.  Nott  chuckled  audibly.  "  I  reckon  old  Frenchy 
did  n't  come  by  when  the  young  one  was  bedevlin'  you 
there." 

"  What,  father  ?  "  said  Rosey,  lifting  her  abstracted  eyes 
to  his  face. 

At  the  moment  it  seemed  impossible  that  any  human 
intelligence  could  have  suspected  deceit  or  duplicity  in 
Rosey's  clear  gaze.  But  Mr.  Nott's  intelligence  was  su 
perhuman.  "  I  was  sayin'  that  Mr.  Ferrieres  did  n't  hap 
pen  in  while  the  young  feller  was  there  —  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  father,"  answered  Rosey,  with  an  effort  to  follow 
him  out  of  the  pages  of  her  book.  "  Why  ? " 


A  Skip  of  '49.  387 

But  Mr.  Nott  did  not  reply.  Later  in  the  evening  he 
awkwardly  waylaid  the  new  lodger  before  the  cabin-door 
as  that  gentleman  would  have  passed  on  to  his  room. 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  the  young  man,  glancing  at  Rosey, 
"that  I  intruded  upon  your  daughter  to-day.  I  was  a 
little  curious  to  see  the  old  ship,  and  I  did  n't  know  what 
part  of  it  was  private." 

"  There  ain't  no  private  part  to  this  yer  ship  —  that  ez, 
'cepting  the  rooms  and  lofts,"  said  Mr.  Nott,  authorita 
tively.  Then,  subjecting  the  anxious  look  of  his  daughter 
to  his  usual  faculty  for  misconception,  he  added,  "  Thar 
ain't  no  place  whar  you  have  n't  as  much  right  to  go  ez 
any  other  man  ;  thar  ain't  any  man,  furriner  or  Amerykan, 
young  or  old,  dyed  or  undyed,  ez  hev  got  any  better 
rights.  You  hear  me,  young  fellow.  Mr.  Renshaw  — 
my  darter.  My  darter  —  Mr.  Renshaw.  Rosey,  give  the 
gentleman  a  chair.  She  's  only  jest  come  in  from  a  prom- 
eynade,  and  hez  jest  taken  off  her  bonnet,"  he  added, 
with  an  arch  look  at  Rosey  and  a  hurried  look  around 
the  cabin,  as  if  he  hoped  to  see  the  missing  gift  visible 
to  the  general  eye.  "  So  take  a  seat  a  minit,  won't  ye  ?  " 

But  Mr.  Renshaw,  after  an  observant  glance  at  the 
young  girl's  abstracted  face,  brusquely  excused  himself. 
"  1  've  got  a  letter  to  write,"  he  said,  with  a  half  bow  to 
Rosey.  "  Good  night." 

He  crossed  the  passage  to  the  room  that  had  been  as 
signed  to  him,  and  closing  the  door  gave  way  to  some 
irritability  of  temper  in  his  efforts  to  light  the  lamp  and 
adjust  his  writing  materials.  For  his  excuse  to  Mr.  Nott 
was  more  truthful  than  most  polite  pretexts.  He  had, 
indeed,  a  letter  to  write,  and  one  that,  being  yet  young  in 
duplicity,  the  near  presence  of  his  host  rendered  difficult. 
For  it  ran  as  follows  :  — 

DEAR  SLEIGHT  :   As  I  found  I  could  n't  get  a  chance 


388  A  Ship  of  '49. 

to  make  any  examination  of  the  ship  except  as  occasion 
offered,  I  just  went  in  to  rent  lodgings  in  her  from  the 
God-forsaken  old  ass  who  owns  her,  and  here  I  am  a 
tenant  for  two  months.  I  contracted  for  that  time  in 
case  the  old  fool  should  sell  out  to  some  one  else  before. 
Except  that  she  's  cut  up  a  little  between  decks  by  the 
partitions  for  lofts  that  that  Pike  County  idiot  has  put 
into  her,  she  looks  but  little  changed,  and  her  fore-hold, 
as  far  as  I  can  judge,  is  intact.  It  seems  that  Nott 
bought  her  just  as  she  stands,  with  her  cargo  half  out, 
but  he  was  n't  here  when  she  broke  cargo.  If  anybody 
else  had  bought  her  but  this  cursed  Missourian,  who  has 
n't  got  the  hayseed  out  of  his  hair,  I  might  have  found 
out  something  from  him,  and  saved  myself  this  kind  of 
fooling,  which  is  n't  in  my  line.  If  I  could  get  possession 
of  a  loft  on  the  main  deck,  well  forward,  just  over  the 
fore-hold,  I  could  satisfy  myself  in  a  few  hours,  but  the 
loft  is  rented  by  that  crazy  Frenchman  who  parades 
Montgomery  Street  every  afternoon,  and  though  old  Pike 
County  wants  to  turn  him  out,  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  get  it 
for  a  week  to  come. 

If  anything  should  happen  to  me,  just  you  waltz  down 
here  and  corral  my  things  at  once,  for  this  old  frontier 
pirate  has  a  way  of  confiscating  his  lodgers'  trunks. 

Yours,  DICK. 


III. 

If  Mr.  Renshaw  indulged  in  any  further  curiosity  re 
garding  the  interior  of  the  Pontiac,  he  did  not  make  his 
active  researches  manifest  to  Rosey.  Nor,  in  spite  of 
her  father's  invitation,  did  he  again  approach  the  galley 
—  a  fact  which  gave  her  her  first  vague  impression  in  his 
favor.  He  seemed  also  to  avoid  the  various  advances 


A  Ship  of  '49.  389 

which  Mr.  Nott  appeared  impelled  to  make,  whenever 
they  met  in  the  passage,  but  did  so  without  seemingly 
avoiding  her,  and  marked  his  half  contemptuous  indiffer 
ence  to  the  elder  Nott  by  an  increase  of  respect  to  the 
young  girl.  She  would  have  liked  to  ask  him  something 
about  ships,  and  was  sure  his  conversation  would  have 
been  more  interesting  than  that  of  old  Captain  Bower,  to 
whose  cabin  he  had  succeeded,  who  had  once  told  her  a 
ship  was  the  "  devil's  hencoop."  She  would  have  liked 
also  to  explain  to  him  that  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
wearing  a  purple  bonnet.  But  her  thoughts  were  pres 
ently  engrossed  by  an  experience  which  interrupted  the 
even  tenor  of  her  young  life. 

She  had  been,  as  she  afterwards  remembered,  impressed 
with  a  nervous  restlessness  one  afternoon,  which  made 
it  impossible  for  her  to  perform  her  ordinary  household 
duties,  or  even  to  indulge  her  favorite  recreation  of  read 
ing  or  castle-building.  She  wandered  over  the  ship,  and, 
impelled  by  the  same  vague  feeling  of  unrest,  descended 
to  the  lower  deck  and  the  forward  bulkhead  where  she 
had  discovered  the  open  hatch.  It  had  not  been  again 
disturbed,  nor  was  there  any  trace  of  further  exploration. 
A  little  ashamed,  she  knew  not  why,  of  revisiting  the 
scene  of  Mr.  Renshaw's  researches,  she  was  turning  back 
when  she  noticed  that  the  door  which  communicated  with 
De  Ferrieres'  loft  was  partly  open.  The  circumstance 
was  so  unusual  that  she  stopped  before  it  in  surprise. 
There  was  no  sound  from  within ;  it  was  the  hour  when 
its  .queer  occupant  was  always  absent ;  he  must  have  for 
gotten  to  lock  the  door,  or  it  had  been  unfastened  by  other 
hands.  After  a  moment  of  hesitation  she  pushed  it 
further  open  and  stepped  into  the  room. 

By  the  dim  light  of  two  port -holes  she  could  see  that 
the  floor  was  strewn  and  piled  with  the  contents  of  a 
broken  bale  of  curled  horse-hair,  of  which  a  few  un- 


390  A  Skip  of  '49. 

touched  bales  still  remained  against  the  wall.  A  heap  of 
morocco  skins,  some  already  cut  in  the  form  of  chair- 
cushion  covers,  and  a  few  cushions  unfinished  and  un- 
stuffed,  lay  in  the  light  of  the  ports,  and  gave  the  apart 
ment  the  appearance  of  a  cheap  workshop.  A  rude  in 
strument  for  combining  the  horse-hair,  awls,  buttons,  and 
thread,  heaped  on  a  small  bench,  showed  that  active  work 
had  been  but  recently  interrupted.  A  cheap  earthenware 
ewer  and  basin  on  the  floor,  and  a  pallet  made  of  an  open 
bale  of  horse-hair,  on  which  a  ragged  quilt  and  blanket 
were  flung,  indicated  that  the  solitary  worker  dwelt  and 
slept  beside  his  work. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  the  young  girl's  active  brain, 
quickened  by  seclusion  and  fed  by  solitary  books.  She 
read  with  keen  eyes  the  miserable  secret  of  her  father's 
strange  guest  in  the  poverty-stricken  walls,  in  the  mute 
evidences  of  menial  handicraft  performed  in  loneliness 
and  privation,  in  this  piteous  adaptation  of  an  accident  to 
save  the  conscious  shame  of  premeditated  toil.  She 
knew  now  why  he  had  stammeringly  refused  to  receive  her 
father's  offer  to  buy  back  the  goods  he  had  given  him  ; 
she  knew  now  how  hardly  gained  was  the  pittance  that 
paid  his  rent  and  supported  his  childish  vanity  and  gro 
tesque  pride.  From  a  peg  in  the  corner  hung  the  familiar 
masquerade  that  hid  his  poverty  —  the  pearl-gray  trousers, 
the  black  frock-coat,  the  tall  shining  hat  —  in  hideous 
contrast  to  the  penury  of  his  surroundings.  But  if  they 
were  here,  where  was  he,  and  in  what  new  disguise  had 
he  escaped  from  his  poverty  ?  A  vague  uneasiness  caused 
her  to  hesitate  and  return  to  the  open  door.  She  had 
nearly  reached  it  when  her  eye  fell  on  the  pallet  which  it 
partly  illuminated.  A  singular  resemblance  in  the  ragged 
heap  made  her  draw  closer.  The  faded  quilt  was  a  dress 
ing-gown,  and  clutching  its  folds  lay  a  white,  wasted 
hand. 


A  Skip  of  '49.  391 

The  emigrant  childhood  of  Rose  Nott  had  been  more 
than  once  shadowed  by  scalping-knives,  and  she  was  ac 
quainted  with  Death.  She  went  fearlessly  to  the  couch, 
and  found  that  the  dressing-gown  was  only  an  enwrapping 
of  the  emaciated  and  lifeless  body  of  De  Ferrieres.  She 
did  not  retreat  or  call  for  help,  but  examined  him  closely. 
He  was  unconscious,  but  not  pulseless  ;  he  had  evidently 
been  strong  enough  to  open  the  door  for  air  or  succor, 
but  had  afterwards  fallen  into  a  fit  on  the  couch.  She 
flew  to  her  father's  locker  and  the  galley  fire,  returned, 
and  shut  the  door  behind  her,  and  by  the  skillful  use  of 
hot  water  and  whiskey  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
a  faint  color  take  the  place  of  the  faded  rouge  in  the 
ghastly  cheeks.  She  was  still  chafing  his  hands  when  he 
slowly  opened  his  eyes.  With  a  start,  he  made  a  quick 
attempt  to  push  aside  her  hand  and  rise.  But  she  gently 
restrained  him. 

"  Eh  —  what !  "  he  stammered,  throwing  his  face  back 
from  hers  with  an  effort  and  trying  to  turn  it  to  the  wall. 

"  You  have  been  ill,"  she  said  quietly.     "  Drink  this." 

With  his  face  still  turned  away  he  lifted  the  cup  to  his 
chattering  teeth.  When  he  had  drained  it  he  threw  a 
trembling  glance  round  the  room  and  at  the  door. 

"  There 's  no  one  been  here  but  myself,"  she  said 
quickly.  *  "  I  happened  to  see  the  door  open  as  I  passed. 
I  did  n't  think  it  worth  while  to  call  any  one." 

The  searching  look  he  gave  her  turned  into  an  expres 
sion  of  relief,  which,  to  her  infinite  uneasiness,  again 
feebly  lightened  into  one  of  antiquated  gallantry.  He 
drew  the  dressing-gown  around  him  with  an  air. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  a  goddess,  Mademoiselle,  that  has  deigned 
to  enter  the  cell  where  —  where  —  I  amuse  myself.  It  is 
droll,  is  it  not  ?  I  came  here  to  make  —  what  you  call 

—  the  experiment  of  your  father's  fabric.     I  make  myself 

—  ha  !  ha  !  — like  a  workman.     Ah,  bah  !   the  heat,  the 


392  A  Ship  of  '49. 

darkness,  the  plebeian  motion  make  my  head  to  go  round. 
I  stagger,  I  faint,  I  cry  out,  I  fall.  But  what  of  that? 
The  great  God  hears  my  cry  and  sends  me  an  angel. 
Voila,!" 

He  attempted  an  easy  gesture  of  gallantry,  but  over 
balanced  himself  and  fell  sideways  on  the  pallet  with  a 
gasp.  Yet  there  was  so  much  genuine  feeling  mixed  with 
his  grotesque  affectation,  so  much  piteous  consciousness 
of  the  ineffectiveness  of  his  falsehood,  that  the  young 
girl,  who  had  turned  away,  came  back  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm. 

"  You  must  lie  still  and  try  to  sleep,"  she  said  gently. 
"  I  will  return  again.  Perhaps,"  she  added,  "  there  is 
some  one  I  can  send  for  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  violently.  Then  in  his  old  manner 
added,  "After  Mademoiselle — no  one." 

"  I  mean  "  —  she  hesitated  ;  "  have  you  no  friends  ? " 

"Friends,  —  ah!  without  doubt."  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  But  Mademoiselle  will  comprehend  "  — 

"You  are  better  now,"  said  Rosey  quickly,  "and  no 
one  need  know  anything  if  you  don't  wish  it.  Try  to 
sleep.  You  need  not  lock  the  door  when  I  go  ;  I  will  see 
that  no  one  comes  in." 

He  flushed  faintly  and  averted  his  eyes.  "  It  is  too 
droll,  Mademoiselle,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Rosey,  glancing  round  the  mis 
erable  room. 

"  And  Mademoiselle  is  an  angel." 

He  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips  humbly  —  his  first 
purely  unaffected  action.  She  slipped  through  the  door, 
and  softly  closed  it  behind  her. 

Reaching  the  upper  deck  she  was  relieved  to  find  her 
father  had  not  returned,  and  her  absence  had  been 
unnoticed.  For  she  had  resolved  to  keep  De  Ferrieres' 
secret  to  herself  from  the  moment  that  she  had  unwit- 


A  Skip  of  '49.  393 

tingly  discovered  it,  and  to  do  this  and  still  be  able  to 
watch  over  him  without  her  father's  knowledge  required 
some  caution.  She  was  conscious  of  his  strange  aversion 
to  the  unfortunate  man  without  understanding  the  reason, 
but  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  entertaining  his  caprices 
more  from  affectionate  tolerance  of  his  weakness  than 
reverence  of  his  judgment,  she  saw  no  disloyalty  to  him 
in  withholding  a  confidence  that  might  be  disloyal  to 
another.  "  It  won't  do  father  any  good  to  know  it,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  and  if  it  did  it  ought  n't  to,"  she  added 
with  triumphant  feminine  logic.  But  the  impression 
made  upon  her  by  the  spectacle  she  had  just  witnessed 
was  stronger  than  any  other  consideration.  The  revela 
tion  of  De  Ferrieres'  secret  poverty  seemed  a  chapter 
from  a  romance  of  her  own  weaving;  for  a  moment  it 
lifted  the  miserable  hero  out  of  the  depths  of  his  folly 
and  selfishness.  She  forgot  the  weakness  of  the  man  in 
the  strength  of  his  dramatic  surroundings.  It  partly 
satisfied  a  craving  she  had  felt;  it  was  not  exactly  the 
story  of  the  ship,  as  she  had  dreamed  it,  but  it  was  an 
episode  in  her  experience  of  it  that  broke  its  monotony. 
That  she  should  soon  learn,  perhaps  from  De  Ferrieres' 
own  lips,  the  true  reason  of  his  strange  seclusion,  and 
that  it  involved  more  than  appeared  to  her  now,  she  never 
for  a  moment  doubted. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  she  again  knocked  softly  at  the 
door,  carrying  some  light  nourishment  she  had  prepared 
for  him.  He  was  asleep,  but  she  was  astounded  to  find 
that  in  the  interval  he  had  managed  to  dress  himself  com 
pletely  in  his  antiquated  finery.  It  was  a  momentary 
shock  to  the  allusion  she  had  been  fostering,  but  she  for 
got  it  in  the  pitiable  contrast  between  his  haggard  face 
and  his  pomatumed  hair  and  beard,  the  jauntiness  of  his 
attire  and  the  collapse  of  his  invalid  figure.  When  she 
had  satisfied  herself  that  his  sleep  was  natural,  she  busied 


394  A  Ship  of  '49. 

herself  softly  in  arranging  the  miserable  apartment. 
With  a  few  feminine  touches  she  removed  the  slovenli 
ness  of  misery,  and  placed  the  loose  material  and  osten 
tatious  evidences  of  his  work  on  one  side.  Finding  that 
he  still  slept,  and  knowing  the  importance  of  this  natural 
medication,  she  placed  the  refreshment  she  had  brought 
by  his  side  and  noiselessly  quitted  the  apartment.  Hur 
rying  through  the  gathering  darkness  between  decks, 
she  once  or  twice  thought  she  heard  footsteps,  and  paused, 
but  encountering  no  one,  attributed  the  impression  to  her 
over-consciousness.  Yet  she  thought  it  prudent  to  go  to 
the  galley  first,  where  she  lingered  a  few  moments  before 
returning  to  the  cabin.  On  entering  she  was  a  little 
startled  at  observing  a  figure  seated  at  her  father's  desk, 
but  was  relieved  at  finding  it  was  Mr.  Renshaw. 

He  rose  and  put  aside  the  book  he  had  idly  picked  up. 
"  I  am  afraid  I  am  an  intentional  intruder  this  time,  Miss 
Nott.  But  I  found  no  one  here,  and  I  was  tempted  to 
look  into  this  ship-shape  little  snuggery.  You  see  the 
temptation  got  the  better  of  me." 

His  voice  and  smile  were  so  frank  and  pleasant,  so  free 
from  his  previous  restraint,  yet  still  respectful,  so  youth 
ful  yet  manly,  that  Rosey  was  affected  by  them  even  in 
her  preoccupation.  Her  eyes  brightened  and  then  dropped 
before  his  admiring  glance.  Had  she  known  that  the 
excitement  of  the  last  few  hours  had  brought  a  wonderful 
charm  into  her  pretty  face,  had  aroused  the  slumbering 
life  of  her  half-wakened  beauty,  she  would  have  been 
more  confused.  As  it  was,  she  was  only  glad  that  the 
young  man  should  turn  out  to  be  "  nice."  Perhaps  he 
might  tell  her  something  about  ships ;  perhaps  if  she  had 
only  known  him  longer  she  might,  with  De  Ferrieres'  per 
mission,  have  shared  her  confidence  with  him,  and  enlist 
ed  his  sympathy  and  assistance.  She  contented  herself 
with  showing  this  anticipatory  gratitude  in  her  face  as  she 


A  Ship  of  '49.  395 

begged  him,  with  the  timidity  of  a  maiden  hostess,  to 
resume  his  seat. 

But  Mr.  Renshaw  seemed  to  talk  only  to  make  her  talk, 
and  I  am  forced  to  admit  that  Rosey  found  this  almost 
as  pleasant.  It  was  not  long  before  he  was  in  possession 
of  her  simple  history  from  the  day  of  her  baby  emigra 
tion  to  California  to  the  transfer  of  her  childish  life  to 
the  old  ship,  and  even  of  much  of  the  romantic  fancies 
she  had  woven  into  her  existence  there.  Whatever  ulte 
rior  purpose  he  had  in  view,  he  listened  as  attentively  as  if 
her  artless  chronicle  was  filled  with  practical  information. 
Once,  when  she  had  paused  for  breath,  he  said  gravely, 
"  I  must  ask  you  to  show  me  over  this  wonderful  ship 
some  day  that  I  may  see  it  with  your  eyes." 

"  But  I  think  you  know  it  already  better  than  I  do," 
said  Rosey  with  a  smile. 

Mr.  Renshaw's  brow  clouded  slightly.  "Ah,"  he  said, 
with  a  touch  of  his  former  restraint ;  "  and  why  ? " 

"  Well,"  said  Rosey  timidly,  "  I  thought  you  went  round 
and  touched  things  in  a  familiar  way  as  if  you  had  handled 
them  before." 

The  young  man  raised  his  eyes  to  Rosey's  and  kept 
them  there  long  enough  to  bring  back  his  gentler  expres 
sion.  "  Then,  because  I  found  you  trying  on  a  very 
queer  bonnet  the  first  day  I  saw  you,"  he  said,  mischiev 
ously,  "  I  ought  to  believe  you  were  in  the  habit  of  wear 
ing  one." 

In  the  first  flush  of  mutual  admiration  young  people 
are  apt  to  find  a  laugh  quite  as  significant  as  a  sigh  for 
an  expression  of  sympathetic  communion,  and  this  mas 
ter-stroke  of  wit  convulsed  them  both.  In  the  midst  of  it 
Mr.  Nott  entered  the  cabin.  But  the  complacency  with 
which  he  viewed  the  evident  perfect  understanding  of  the 
pair  was  destined  to  suffer  some  abatement.  Rosey,  sud 
denly  conscious  that  she  was  in  some  way  participating 


396  A  Skip  of  V9- 

in  the  ridicule  of  her  father  through  his  unhappy  gift, 
became  embarrassed.  Mr.  Renshaw's  restraint  returned 
with  the  presence  of  the  old  man.  In  vain,  at  first,  Abner 
Nott  strove  with  profound  levity  to  indicate  his  arch 
comprehension  of  the  situation,  and  in  vain,  later,  becom 
ing  alarmed,  he  endeavored,  with  cheerful  gravity,  to  indi 
cate  his  utter  obliviousness  of  any  but  a  business  signifi 
cance  in  their  tete-a-tete. 

"  I  ought  n't  to  hev  intruded,  Rosey,"  he  said,  "  when 
you  and  the  gentleman  were  talkin'  of  contracts,  mebbee  ; 
but  don't  mind  me.  I  'm  on  the  fly,  anyhow,  Rosey  dear, 
hevin'  to  see  a  man  round  the  corner." 

But  even  the  attitude  of  withdrawing  did  not  prevent 
the  exit  of  Renshaw  to  his  apartment  and  of  Rosey  to 
the  galley.  Left  alone  in  the  cabin,  Abner  Nott  felt  in 
the  knots  and  tangles  of  his  beard  for  a  reason.  Glan 
cing  down  at  his  prodigious  boots,  which,  covered  with 
mud  and  gravel,  strongly  emphasized  his  agricultural 
origin,  and  gave  him  a  general  appearance  of  standing  on 
his  own  broad  acres,  he  was  struck  with  an  idea.  "  It 's 
them  boots,"  he  whispered  to  himself,  softly;  "they  some 
how  don't  seem  'xactly  to  trump  or  follow  suit  in  this  yer 
cabin;  they  don't  hitch  into  anythin'  but  jist  slosh  round 
loose,  and  so  to  speak  play  it  alone.  And  them  young 
critters  nat'rally  feels  it  and  gets  out  o'  the  way."  Acting 
upon  this  instinct  with  his  usual  precipitate  caution,  he 
at  once  proceeded  to  the  nearest  second-hand  shop,  and, 
purchasing  a  pair  of  enormous  carpet  slippers,  originally 
the  property  of  a  gouty  sea-captain,  reappeared  with  a 
strong  suggestion  of  newly  upholstering  the  cabin.  The 
improvement,  however,  was  fraught  with  a  portentous 
circumstance.  Mr.  Nott's  footsteps,  which  usually  an 
nounced  his  approach  all  over  the  ship,  became  stealthy 
and  inaudible. 

Meantime  Miss  Rosey  had  taken  advantage  of  the  ab- 


A  Ship  of  '49.  397 

sence  of  her  father  to  visit  her  patient.  To  avoid  at 
tracting  attention  she  did  not  take  a  light,  but  groped  her 
way  to  the  lower  deck  and  rapped  softly  at  the  door.  It 
was  instantly  opened  by  De  Ferrieres.  He  had  ap 
parently  appreciated  the  few  changes  she  had  already 
made  in  the  room,  and  had  himself  cleared  away  the  pal 
let  from  which  he  had  risen  to  make  two  low  seats  against 
the  wall.  Two  bits  of  candle  placed  on  the  floor  illumi 
nated  the  beams  above,  the  dressing-gown  was  artistically 
draped  over  the  solitary  chair,  and  a  pile  of  cushions 
formed  another  seat.  With  elaborate  courtesy  he  handed 
Miss  Rosey  to  the  chair.  He  looked  pale  and  weak, 
though  the  gravity  of  the  attack  had  evidently  passed. 
Yet  he  persisted  in  remaining  standing.  "  If  I  sit,"  he 
explained  with  a  gesture,  "  I  shall  again  disgrace  myself 
by  sleeping  in  Mademoiselle's  presence.  Yes !  I  shall 
sleep  —  I  shall  dream  —  and  wake  to  find  her  gone  !  " 

More  embarrassed  by  his  recovery  than  when  he  was 
lying  helplessly  before  her,  she  said  hesitatingly  that  she 
was  glad  he  was  better,  and  that  she  hoped  he  liked  the 
broth. 

"It  was  manna  from  heaven,  Mademoiselle.  See,  I 
have  taken  it  all  —  every  precious  drop.  What  else 
could  I  have  done  for  Mademoiselle's  kindness  ?  " 

He  showed  her  the  empty  bowl.  A  swift  conviction 
came  upon  her  that  the  man  had  been  suffering  from 
want  of  food.  The  thought  restored  her  self-possession 
even  while  it  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  "  I  wish 
you  would  let  me  speak  to  father  —  or  some  one,"  she 
said  impulsively,  and  stopped. 

A  quick  and  half  insane  gleam  of  terror  and  suspicion 
lit  up  his  deep  eyes.  "  For  what,  Mademoiselle !  For 
an  accident  —  that  is  nothing  —  absolutely  nothing,  for  I 
am  strong  and  well  now  —  see !  "  he  said  tremblingly. 
"  Or  for  a  whim  — for  a  folly  you  may  say,  that  they  will 


398  A  Ship  of  '49. 

misunderstand.  No,  Mademoiselle  is  good,  is  wise.  She 
will  say  to  herself,  *  I  understand,  my  friend  Monsieur  de 
Ferrieres  for  the  moment  has  a  secret.  He  would  seem 
poor,  he  would  take  the  role  of  artisan,  he  would  shut 
himself  up  in  these  walls  —  perhaps  I  may  guess  why, 
but  it  is  his  secret.  I  think  of  it  no  more.' "  He  caught 
her  hand  in  his  with  a  gesture  that  he  would  have  made 
one  of  gallantry,  but  that  in  its  tremulous  intensity  be 
came  a  piteous  supplication. 

"  I  have  said  nothing,  and  will  say  nothing,  if  you  wish 
it,"  said  Rosey  hastily;  "but  others  may  find  out  how 
you  live  here.  This  is  not  fit  work  for  you.  You  seem 
to  be  a  —  a  gentleman.  You  ought  to  be  a  lawyer,  or  a 
doctor,  or  in  a  bank,"  she  continued  timidly,  with  a  vague 
enumeration  of  the  prevailing  degrees  of  local  gentility. 

He  dropped  her  hand.  "  Ah  !  does  not  Mademoiselle 
comprehend  that  it  is  because  I  am  a  gentleman  that  there 
is  nothing  between  it  and  this  ?  Look  !  "  he  continued 
almost  fiercely.  "  What  if  I  told  you  it  is  the  lawyer,  it  is 
the  doctor,  it  is  the  banker  that  brings  me,  a  gentleman, 
to  this,  eh  ?  Ah,  bah  !  What  do  I  say  ?  This  is  honest, 
what  I  do  !  But  the  lawyer,  the  banker,  the  doctor,  what 
are  they?"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  pacing  the 
apartment  with  a  furtive  glance  at  the  half  anxious,  half 
frightened  girl,  suddenly  stopped,  dragged  a  small  port 
manteau  from  behind  the  heap  of  bales  and  opened  it. 
''Look,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  tremulously  lifting  a 
handful  of  worn  and  soiled  letters  and  papers.  "  Look  — 
these  are  the  tools  of  your  banker,  your  lawyer,  your  doctor. 
With  this  the  banker  will  make  you  poor,  the  lawyer  will 
prove  you  a  thief,  the  doctor  will  swear  you  are  crazy,  eh  ? 
What  shall  you  call  the  work  of  a  gentleman  —  this"  — 
he  dragged  the  pile  of  cushions  forward  —  "  or  this  ?  " 

To  the  young  girl's  observant  eyes  some  of  the  papers 
appeared  to  be  of  a  legal  or  official  character,  and  others 


A  Ship  of  '49.  399 

like  bills  of  lading,  with  which  she  was  familiar.  Their 
half  theatrical  exhibition  reminded  her  of  some  play  she 
had  seen  ;  they  might  be  the  clue  to  some  story,  or  the 
mere  worthless  hoardings  of  some  diseased  fancy.  What 
ever  they  were,  De  Ferrieres  did  not  apparently  care  to 
explain  further ;  indeed,  the  next  moment  his  manner 
changed  to  his  old  absurd  extravagance.  "  But  this  is  stupid 
for  Mademoiselle  to  hear.  What  shall  we  speak  of  ?  Ah ! 
what  should  we  speak  of  in  Mademoiselle's  presence  ? " 

"  But  are  not  these  papers  valuable  ?  "  asked  Rosey, 
partly  to  draw  her  host's  thoughts  back  to  their  former 
channel. 

"  Perhaps."  He  paused  and  regarded  the  young  girl 
fixedly.  "  Does  Mademoiselle  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Rosey.     "  How  should  I  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  if  Mademoiselle  thought  so  —  if  Mademoiselle 
would  deign  "  —  He  stopped  again  and  placed  his  hand 
upon  his  forehead.  "  It  might  be  so  !  "  he  muttered. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  said  Rosey  hurriedly,  rising  with  an 
awkward  sense  of  constraint.  "  Father  will  wonder  where 
I  am." 

"  I  shall  explain.  I  will  accompany  you,  Mademoiselle." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Rosey,  quickly ;  "  he  must  not  know 
I  have  been  here  ! "  She  stopped.  The  honest  blush 
flew  to  her  cheek,  and  then  returned  again,  because  she 
had  blushed. 

De  Ferrieres  gazed  at  her  with  an  exalted  look.  Then 
drawing  himself  to  his  full  height,  he  said,  with  an  exag 
gerated  and  indescribable  gesture,  "  Go,  my  child,  go.  Tell 
your  father  that  you  have  been  alone  and  unprotected  in 
the  abode  of  poverty  and  suffering,  but  —  that  it  was  in 
the  presence  of  Armand  de  Ferrieres." 

He  threw  open  the  door  with  a  bow  that  nearly  swept 
the  ground,  but  did  not  again  offer  to  take  her  hand.  At 
once  impressed  and  embarrassed  at  this  crowning  incon- 


400  A  Ship  of  "49. 

gruity,  her  pretty  lips  trembled  between  a  smile  and  a  cry 
as  she  said,  "Good-night,"  and  slipped  away  into  the 
darkness. 

Erect  and  grotesque  De  Ferrieres  retained  the  same  at 
titude  until  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  was  lost,  when  he 
slowly  began  to  close  the  door.  But  a  strong  arm  arrested 
it  from  without,  and  a  large  carpeted  foot  appeared  at  the 
bottom  of  the  narrowing  opening.  The  door  yielded,  and 
Mr.  Abner  Nott  entered  the  room. 


IV. 

With  an  exclamation  and  a  hurried  glance  around  him, 
De  Ferrieres  threw  himself  before  the  intruder.  But 
slowly  lifting  his  large  hand,  and  placing  it  on  his  lodger's 
breast,  he  quietly  overbore  the  sick  man's  feeble  resist 
ance  with  an  impact  of  power  that  seemed  almost  as 
moral  as  it  was  physical.  He  did  not  appear  to  take 
any  notice  of  the  room  or  its  miserable  surroundings ;  in 
deed,  scarcely  of  the  occupant.  Still  pushing  him,  with 
abstracted  eyes  and  immobile  face,  to  the  chair  that 
Rosey  had  just  quitted,  he  made  him  sit  down,  and  then 
took  up  his  own  position  on  the  pile  of  cushions  opposite. 
His  usually  underdone  complexion  was  of  watery  blue- 
ness  ;  but  his  dull,  abstracted  glance  appeared  to  exercise 
a  certain  dumb,  narcotic  fascination  on  his  lodger. 

"  I  mout,"  said  Nott,  slowly,  "hev  laid  ye  out  here  on 
sight,  without  enny  warnin',  or  dropped  ye  in  yer  tracks 
in  Montgomery  Street,  wherever  there  was  room  to  work 
a  six-shooter  in  comf'ably  ?  Johnson,  of  Petaluny  —  him, 
ye  know,  ez  hed  a  game  eye  —  fetched  Flynn  comin'  outer 
meetin'  one  Sunday,  and  it  was  only  on  account  of  his 
wife,  and  she  a  second-hand  one,  so  to  speak.  There 
was  Walker,  of  Contra  Costa,  plugged  that  young  Sacra- 


A  Ship  of  ^49.  401 

mento  chap,  whose  name  I  disremember,  full  o'  holes  jest 
ez  he  was  sayin'  '  Good-by '  to  his  darter.  I  mout  hev 
done  all  this  if  it  had  settled  things  to  please  me.  For 
while  you  and  Flynn  and  that  Sacramento  chap  ez  all 
about  the  same  sort  o'  men,  Rosey  ?s  a  different  kind  from 
their  sort  o'  women." 

"  Mademoiselle  is  an  angel ! "  said  De  Ferrieres,  sud 
denly  rising,  with  an  excess  of  extravagance.  "  A  saint ! 
Look  !  I  cram  the  lie,  ha !  down  his  throat  who  chal 
lenges  it." 

"Ef  by  mam'selle  ye  mean  my  Rosey,"  said  Nott, 
quietly  laying  his  powerful  hands  on  De  Ferrieres'  shoul 
ders,  and  slowly  pinning  him  down  again  upon  his  chair, 
"  ye  're  about  right,  though  she  ain't  mam'selle  yet.  Ez  I 
was  sayin',  I  might  hev  killed  you  off-hand  ef  I  hed 
thought  it  would  hev  been  a  good  thing  for  Rosey." 

"  For  her  ?  Ah,  well !  Look,  I  am  ready,"  interrupted 
De  Ferrieres,  again  springing  to  his  feet,  and  throwing 
open  his  coat  with  both  hands.  "  See !  here  at  my  heart  — 
fire ! " 

"  Ez  I  was  sayin',"  continued  Nott,  once  more  press 
ing  the  excited  man  down  in  his  chair,  "I  might  hev 
wiped  ye  out — and  mebbee  ye  would  n't  hev  keered  — 
or  you  might  hev  wiped  me  out,  and  I  mout  hev  said, 
*  Thank  'ee,'  but  I  reckon  this  ain't  a  case  for  what  's 
comf  able  for  you  and  me.  It 's  what 's  good  for  Rosey. 
And  the  thing  to  kalkilate  is,  what 's  to  be  done." 

His  small  round  eyes  for  the  first  time  rested  on  De 
Ferrieres'  face,  and  were  quickly  withdrawn.  It  was 
evident  that  this  abstracted  look,  which  had  fascinated  his 
lodger,  was  merely  a  resolute  avoidance  of  De  Ferrieres' 
glance,  and  it  became  apparent  later  that  this  avoidance 
was  due  to  a  ludicrous  appreciation  of  De  Ferrieres'  at 
tractions. 

"And  after  we've  done  that  we  must  kalkilate  what 


402  A  Ship  of  '49. 

Rosey  is,  and  what  Rosey  wants.  P'r'aps,  ye  allow,  you 
know  what  Rosey  is  ?  P'r'aps  you  've  seen  her  prance 
round  in  velvet  bonnets  and  white  satin  slippers,  and 
sich.  P'r'aps  you  've  seen  her  readin'  tracks  and  v'yages, 
without  waitin'  to  spell  a  word,  or  catch  her  breath.  But 
that  ain't  the  Rosey  ez  /  knows.  It 's  a  little  child  ez 
uster  crawl  in  and  out  the  tail-board  of  a  Mizzouri  wagon 
on  the  alcali-pizoned  plains,  where  there  was  n't  another 
bit  of  God's  mercy  on  yearth  to  be  seen  for  miles  and 
miles.  It 's  a  little  gal  as  uster  hunger  and  thirst  ez  quiet 
and  mannerly  ez  she  now  eats  and  drinks  in  plenty ;  whose 
voice  was  ez  steady  with  Injins  yellin'  round  yer  nest  in 
the  leaves  on  Sweetwater  ez  in  her  purty  cabin  up  yonder. 
That 's  the  gal  ez  I  knows  !  That 's  the  Rosey  ez  my  ole 
woman  puts  into  my  arms  one  night  arter  we  left  Laramie 
when  the  fever  was  high,  and  sez,  '  Abner,'  sez  she,  'the 
chariot  is  swingin'  low  for  me  to-night,  but  thar  ain't 
room  in  it  for  her  or  you  to  git  in  or  hitch  on.  Take  her 
and  rare  her,  so  we  kin  all  jine  on  the  other  shore,'  sez 
she.  And  I  'd  knowed  the  other  shore  was  n't  no  Kali- 
forny.  And  that  night,  p'r'aps,  the  chariot  swung  lower 
than  ever  before,  and  my  ole  woman  stepped  into  it,  and 
left  me  and  Rosey  to  creep  on  in  the  old  wagon  alone. 
It 's  them  kind  o'  things,"  added  Mr.  Nott  thoughtfully, 
"  that  seem  to  pint  to  my  killin'  you  on  sight  ez  the  best 
thing  to  be  done.  And  yet  Rosey  might  n't  like  it." 

He  had  slipped  one  of  his  feet  out  of  his  huge  carpet 
slippers,  and,  as  he  reached  down  to  put  it  on  again,  he 
added  calmly :  "  And  ez  to  yer  marrying  her  it  ain't  to 
be  done." 

The  utterly  bewildered  expression  which  transfigured 
De  Ferrieres'  face  at  this  announcement  was  unobserved 
by  Nott's  averted  eyes,  nor  did  he  perceive  that  his  list 
ener  the  next  moment  straightened  his  erect  figure  and 
adjusted  his  cravat. 


A  Ship  of  Vp-  403 

"  Ef  Rosey,"  he  continued,  "hez  read  in  v'yages  and 
tracks  in  Eyetalian  and  French  countries  of  such  chaps 
ez  you  and  kalkilates  you  're  the  right  kind  to  tie  to, 
mebbee  it  mout  hev  done  if  you  'd  been  livin'  over  thar 
in  a  pallis,  but  somehow  it  don't  jibe  in  over  here  and 
agree  with  a  ship  —  and  that  ship  lying  comf'able  ashore 
in  San  Francisco.  You  don't  seem  to  suit  the  climate, 
you  see,  and  your  general  gait  is  likely  to  stampede  the 
other  cattle.  Agin,"  said  Nott,  with  an  ostentation  of 
looking  at  his  companion  but  really  gazing  on  vacancy, 
"this  fixed -up,  antique  style  of  yours  goes  better  with 
them  ivy-kivered  ruins  in  Rome  and  Palmyry  that  Rosey 's 
mixed  you  up  with,  than  it  would  yere.  I  ain't  sayin'," 
he  added  as  De  Ferrieres  was  about  to  speak,  "  I  ain't 
sayin'  ez  that  child  ain't  smitten  with  ye.  It  ain't  no  use 
to  lie  and  say  she  don't  prefer  you  to  her  old  father,  or 
young  chaps  of  her  own  age  and  kind.  I  Ve  seed  it  afor 
now.  I  suspicioned  it  afor  I  seed  her  slip  out  o'  this 
place  to-night.  Thar  !  keep  your  hair  on,  such  ez  it  is  !  " 
he  added,  as  De  Ferrieres  attempted  a  quick  deprecatory 
gesture.  "  I  ain't  askin'  yer  how  often  she  comes  here, 
nor  what  she  sez  to  you  nor  you  to  her.  I  ain't  asked 
her  and  I  don't  ask  you.  I  '11  allow  ez  you  've  settled  all 
the  preliminaries  and  bought  her  the  ring  and  sich  ;  I  'm 
only  askin'  you  now,  kalkilatin'  you  've  got  all  the  keerds 
in  your  own  hand,  what  you  '11  take  to  step  out  and  leave 
the  board  ? " 

The  dazed  look  of  De  Ferrieres  might  have  forced  it 
self  even  upon  Nott's  one-idead  fatuity,  had  it  not  been 
a  part  of  that  gentleman's  system  delicately  to  look  an 
other  way  at  that  moment  so  as  not  to  embarrass  his  ad 
versary's  calculation.  "Pardon,"  stammered  De  Ferri 
eres,  "  but  I  do  not  comprehend  !  "  He  raised  his  hand 
to  his  head.  "  I  am  not  well  —  I  am  stupid.  Ah,  mon 
Dieu ! " 


404  A  Ship  of  '49. 

"  I  ain't  savin',"  added  Nott  more  gently,  "  ez  you 
don't  feel  bad.  It 's  nat'ral.  But  it  ain't  business.  I  'm 
asking  you,"  he  continued,  taking  from  his  breast-pocket 
a  large  wallet,  "  how  much  you  '11  take  in  cash  now,  and 
the  rest  next  steamer  day,  to  give  up  Rosey  and  leave 
the  ship." 

De  Ferrieres  staggered  to  his  feet  despite  Nott's  re 
straining  hand.  "To  leave  Mademoiselle  and  leave  the 
ship  ?  "  he  said  huskily,  "  is  it  not  ?  " 

"In  course.  Yer  can  leave  things  yer  just  ez  you 
found  'em  when  you  came,  you  know,"  continued  Nott, 
for  the  first  time  looking  round  the  miserable  apartment. 
"  It 's  a  business  job.  I  '11  take  the  bales  back  agin,  and 
you  kin  reckon  up  what  you  're  out,  countin'  Rosey  and 
loss  o'  time." 

"  He  wishes  me  to  go  —  he  has  said,"  repeated  De 
Ferrieres  to  himself  thickly. 

"  Ef  you  mean  me  when  you  say  him,  and  ez  thar  ain't 
any  other  man  around,  I  reckon  you  do  —  '  yes  ! ' ' 

"  And  he  asks  me  —  he  —  this  man  of  the  feet  and  the 
daughter  —  asks  me  —  De  Ferrieres  —  what  I  will  take," 
continued  De  Ferrieres,  buttoning  his  coat.  "  No  !  it  is  a 
dream  ! "  He  walked  stiffly  to  the  corner  where  his  port 
manteau  lay,  lifted  it,  and  going  to  the  outer  door,  a  cut 
through  the  ship's  side  that  communicated  with  the  alley, 
unlocked  it  and  flung  it  open  to  the  night.  A  thick  mist 
like  the  breath  of  the  ocean  flowed  into  the  room. 

"  You  ask  me  what  I  shall  take  to  go,"  he  said  as  he 
stood  on  the  threshold.  "  I  shall  take  what  you  cannot 
give,  Monsieur,  but  what  I  would  not  keep  if  I  stood  here 
another  moment.  I  take  my  Honor,  Monsieur,  and — I 
take  my  leave  ! " 

For  a  moment  his  grotesque  figure  was  outlined  in  the 
opening,  and  then  disappeared  as  if  he  had  dropped  into 
an  invisible  ocean  below.  Stupefied  and  disconcerted  at 


A  Ship  of  '49.  405 

this  complete  success  of  his  overtures,  Abner  Nott  re 
mained  speechless,  gazing  at  the  vacant  space  until  a 
cold  influx  of  the  mist  recalled  him.  Then  he  rose  and 
shuffled  quickly  to  the  door. 

"  Hi !  Ferrers  !  Look  yer  —  Say !  Wot 's  your  hurry, 
pardner  ? " 

But  there  was  no  response.  The  thick  mist,  which  hid 
the  surrounding  objects,  seemed  to  deaden  all  sound  also. 
After  a  moment's  pause  he  closed  the  door,  but  did 
not  lock  it,  and  retreating  to  the  center  of  the  room  re 
mained  blinking  at  the  two  candles  and  plucking  some 
perplexing  problem  from  his  beard.  Suddenly  an  idea 
seized  him.  Rosey  !  Where  was  she  ?  Perhaps  it  had 
been  a  preconcerted  plan,  and  she  had  fled  with  him. 
Putting  out  the  lights  he  stumbled  hurriedly  through  the 
passage  to  the  gangway  above.  The  cabin  -  door  was 
open  ;  there  was  the  sound  of  voices  —  Renshaw's  and 
Rosey's.  Mr.  Nott  felt  relieved  but  not  unembarrassed. 
He  would  have  avoided  his  daughter's  presence  that 
evening.  But  even  while  making  this  resolution  with  char 
acteristic  infelicity  he  blundered  into  the  room.  Rosey 
looked  up  with  a  slight  start ;  Renshaw's  animated  face 
was  changed  to  its  former  expression  of  inward  discon 
tent. 

"  You  came  in  so  like  a  ghost,  father,"  said  Rosey  with 
a  slight  peevishness  that  was  new  to  her.  "  And  I  thought 
you  were  in  town.  Don't  go,  Mr.  Renshaw." 

But  Mr.  Renshaw  intimated  that  he  had  already  tres 
passed  upon  Miss  Nott's  time,  and  that  no  doubt  her  fa 
ther  wanted  to  talk  with  her.  To  his  surprise  and  annoy 
ance,  however,  Mr.  Nott  insisted  on  accompanying  him 
to  his  room,  and  without  heeding  Renshaw's  cold  "  Good 
night,"  entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"P'raps,"  said  Mr.  Nott  with  a  troubled  air,  "you  dis- 
remember  that  when  you  first  kem  here  you  asked  me  if 


406  A  Ship  of  '49. 

you  could  hev  that  'er  loft  that  the  Frenchman  had  down 
stairs." 

"  No,  I  don't  remember  it,"  said  Renshaw  almost  rudely. 
"  But,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
obliged  to  revive  a  stale  and  unpleasant  memory,  "  if  I 
did  —  what  about  it  ? " 

"  Nuthin',  only  that  you  kin  hev  it  to-morrow,  ez  that 
'ere  Frenchman  is  movin'  out,"  responded  Nott.  "  I 
thought  you  was  sorter  keen  about  it  when  you  first 
kern." 

"  Umph  !  we  '11  talk  about  it  to-morrow."  Something 
in  the  look  of  wearied  perplexity  with  which  Mr.  Nott 
was  beginning  to  regard  his  own  mal  a  propos  presence, 
arrested  the  young  man's  attention.  "  What 's  the  reason 
you  did  n't  sell  this  old  ship  long  ago,  take  a  decent  house 
in  the  town,  and  bring  up  your  daughter  like  a  lady  ? "  he 
asked,  with  a  sudden  blunt  good-humor.  But  even  this 
implied  blasphemy  against  the  habitation  he  worshiped 
did  not  prevent  Mr.  Nott  from  his  usual  misconstruction 
of  the  question. 

"  I  reckon,  now,  Rosey  's  got  high-flown  ideas  of  livin' 
in  a  castle  with  ruins,  eh  ? "  he  said  cunningly. 

"  Have  n't  heard  her  say,"  returned  Renshaw  abruptly. 
"  Good-night." 

Firmly  convinced  that  Rosey  had  been  unable  to  con 
ceal  from  Mr.  Renshaw  the  influence  of  her  dreams  of  a 
castellated  future  with  De  Ferrieres,  he  regained  the 
cabin.  Satisfying  himself  that  his  daughter  had  retired, 
he  sought  his  own  couch.  But  not  to  sleep.  The  figure 
of  De  Ferrieres,  standing  in  the  ship  side  and  melting  into 
the  outer  darkness,  haunted  him,  and  compelled  him  in 
dreams  to  rise  and  follow  him  through  the  alleys  and  by 
ways  of  the  crowded  city.  Again,  it  was  a  part  of  his 
morbid  suspicion  that  he  now  invested  the  absent  man 
with  a  potential  significance  and  an  unknown  power. 


A  Ship  of  '49.  407 

What  deep-laid  plans  might  he  not  form  to  possess  him 
self  of  Rosey,  of  which  he,  Abner  Nott,  would  be  igno 
rant  ?  Unchecked  by  the  restraint  of  a  father's  roof,  he 
would  now  give  full  license  to  his  power.  "  Said  he  'd 
take  his  Honor  with  him,"  muttered  Abner  to  himself  in 
the  dim  watches  of  the  night ;  "  lookin'  at  that  say  in'  in 
its  right  light,  it  looks  bad." 


V. 

The  elaborately  untruthful  account  which  Mr.  Nott 
gave  his  daughter  of  De  Ferrieres'  sudden  departure  was 
more  fortunate  than  his  usual  equivocations.  While  it 
disappointed  and  slightly  mortified  her,  it  did  not  seem 
to  her  inconsistent  with  what  she  already  knew  of  him. 
"  Said  his  doctor  had  ordered  him  to  quit  town  under  an 
hour,  owing  to  a  comin'  attack  of  hay  fever,  and  he  had 
a  friend  from  furrin  parts  waitin'  him  at  the  Springs, 
Rosey,"  explained  Nott,  hesitating  between  his  desire  to 
avoid  his  daughter's  eyes  and  his  wish  to  observe  her 
countenance. 

"  Was  he  worse  ?  —  I  mean  did  he  look  badly,  father  ? " 
inquired  Rosey,  thoughtfully. 

"  I  reckon  not  exactly  bad.  Kinder  looked  as  if  he 
mout  be  worse  soon  erf  he  did  n't  hump  hisself." 

"Did  you  see  him?  —  in  his  room?"  asked  Rosey 
anxiously.  Upon  the  answer  to  this  simple  question  de 
pended  the  future  confidential  relations  of  father  and 
daughter.  If  her  father  had  himself  detected  the  means 
by  which  his  lodger  existed,  she  felt  that  her  own  obliga 
tions  to  secrecy  had  been  removed.  But  Mr.  Nott's 
answer  disposed  of  this  vain  hope.  It  was  a  response 
after  his  usual  fashion  to  the  question  he  imagined  she 
artfully  wished  to  ask,  i.  e.  if  he  had  discovered  their 


408  A  Ship  of  V?- 

rendezvous  of  the  previous  night.  This  it  was  part  of  his 
peculiar  delicacy  to  ignore.  Yet  his  reply  showed  that 
he  had  been  unconscious  of  the  one  miserable  secret  that 
he  might  have  read  easily. 

"  I  was  there  an  hour  or  so  —  him  and  me  alone  — 
discussin7  trade.  I  reckon  he  's  got  a  good  thing  outer 
that  curled  horse-hair,  for  I  see  he  's  got  in  an  invoice  o' 
cushions.  I  've  stowed  'em  all  in  the  f orrard  bulkhead  un 
til  he  sends  for  'em,  ez  Mr.  Renshaw  hez  taken  the  loft." 

But  although  Mr.  Renshaw  had  taken  the  loft,  he  did 
not  seem  in  haste  to  occupy  it.  He  spent  part  of  the 
morning  in  uneasily  pacing  his  room,  in  occasional  sallies 
into  the  street  from  which  he  purposelessly  returned,  and 
once  or  twice  in  distant  and  furtive  contemplation  of 
Rosey  at  work  in  the  galley.  This  last  observation  was 
not  unnoticed  by  the  astute  Nott,  who  at  once  conceiving 
that  he  was  nourishing  a  secret  and  hopeless  passion  for 
Rosey,  began  to  consider  whether  it  was  not  his  duty  to 
warn  the  young  man  of  her  preoccupied  affections.  But 
Mr.  Renshaw's  final  disappearance  obliged  him  to  with 
hold  his  confidence  till  morning. 

This  time  Mr.  Renshaw  left  the  ship  with  the  evi 
dent  determination  of  some  settled  purpose.  He  walked 
rapidly  until  he  reached  the  counting-house  of  Mr. 
Sleight,  when  he  was  at  once  shown  into  a  private  office. 
In  a  few  moments  Mr.  Sleight,  a  brusque  but  passionless 
man,  joined  him. 

"Well,"  said  Sleight,  closing  the  door  carefully. 
"  What  news  ?  " 

"  None,"  said  Renshaw  bluntly.  "  Look  here,  Sleight," 
he  added,  turning  to  him  suddenly.  "  Let  me  out  of  this 
game.  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Does  that  mean  you  've  found  nothing  ?  "  asked 
Sleight,  sarcastically. 

"  It  means  that  I  have  n't  looked  for  anything,  and  that 


A  Ship  of  '49.  409 

I  don't  intend  to  without  the  full  knowledge  of  that 
d — d  fool  who  owns  the  ship." 

"  You  Ve  changed  your  mind  since  you  wrote  that 
letter,"  said  Sleight  coolly,  producing  from  a  drawer 
the  note  already  known  to  the  reader.  Renshaw  me 
chanically  extended  his  hand  to  take  it.  Mr.  Sleight 
dropped  the  letter  back  into  the  drawer,  which  he  quietly 
locked.  The  apparently  simple  act  dyed  Mr.  Renshaw's 
cheek  with  color,  but  it  vanished  quickly,  and  with  it  any 
token  of  his  previous  embarrassment.  He  looked  at 
Sleight  with  the  convinced  air  of  a  resolute  man  who  had 
at  last  taken  a  disagreeable  step  but  was  willing  to  stand 
by  the  consequences. 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind,"  he  said  coolly.  "  I  found 
out  that  it  was  one  thing  to  go  down  there  as  a  skilled 
prospector  might  go  to  examine  a  mine  that  was  to  be 
valued  according  to  his  report  of  the  indications,  but  that  it 
was  entirely  another  thing  to  go  and  play  the  spy  in  a 
poor  devil's  house  in  order  to  buy  something  he  did  n't 
know  he  was  selling  and  would  n't  sell  if  he  did." 

"  And  something  that  the  man  he  bought  of  did  n't 
think  of  selling  ;  something  he  himself  never  paid  for,  and 
never  expected  to  buy,"  sneered  Sleight. 

"  But  something  that  we  expect  to  buy  from  our  knowl 
edge  of  all  this,  and  it  is  that  which  makes  all  the  differ 
ence." 

"  But  you  knew  all  this  before." 

"  I  never  saw  it  in  this  light  before.  I  never  thought 
of  it  until  I  was  living  there  face  to  face  with  the  old  fool 
I  was  intending  to  overreach.  I  never  was  sure  of  it 
until  this  morning,  when  he  actually  turned  out  one  of  his 
lodgers  that  I  might  have  the  very  room  I  required  to 
play  off  our  little  game  in  comfortably.  When  he  did 
that,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  drop  the  whole  thing,  and 
I  'm  here  to  do  it." 


4io  A  Ship  of  "49. 

"  And  let  somebody  else  take  the  responsibility  —  with 
the  percentage  —  unless  you  Ve  also  felt  it  your  duty  to 
warn  Nott  too,"  said  Sleight  with  a  sneer. 

"  You  only  dare  say  that  to  me,  Sleight,"  said  Renshaw 
quietly,  "  because  you  have  in  that  drawer  an  equal  evi 
dence  of  my  folly  and  my  confidence  ;  but  if  you  are  wise 
you  will  not  presume  too  far  on  either.  Let  us  see  how 
we  stand.  Through  the  yarn  of  a  drunken  captain  and  a 
mutinous  sailor  you  became  aware  of  an  unclaimed  ship 
ment  of  treasure,  concealed  in  an  unknown  ship  that 
entered  this  harbor.  You  are  enabled,  through  me,  to 
corroborate  some  facts  and  identify  the  ship.  You  pro 
posed  to  me,  as  a  speculation,  to  identify  the  treasure  if 
possible  before  you  purchased  the  ship.  I  accepted  the 
offer  without  consideration ;  on  consideration  I  now  de 
cline  it,  but  without  prejudice  or  loss  to  any  one  but  my 
self.  As  to  your  insinuation  I  need  not  remind  you  that 
my  presence  here  to-day  refutes  it.  I  would  not  require 
your  permission  to  make  a  much  better  bargain  with  a 
good-natured  fool  like  Nott  than  I  could  with  you.  Or  if 
I  did  not  care  for  the  business  I  could  have  warned  the 
girl"  — 

"  The  girl  —  what  girl  ? " 

Renshaw  bit  his  lip,  but  answered  boldly :  "  The  old 
man's  daughter —  a  poor  girl —  whom  this  act  would  rob 
as  well  as  her  father." 

Sleight  looked  at  his  companion  attentively.  "You 
might  have  said  so  at  first,  and  let  up  on  this  camp-meet- 
in'  exhortation.  Well  then  —  admitting  you've  got  the 
old  man  and  the  young  girl  on  the  same  string,  and  that 
you  Ve  played  it  pretty  low  down  in  the  short  time  you  Ve 
been  there  —  I  suppose,  Dick  Renshaw,  I  Ve  got  to  see 
your  bluff.  Well,  how  much  is  it  ?  What 's  the  figure 
you  and  she  have  settled  on  ?  " 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Sleight  was   in  physical  danger. 


A  Ship  of  VP-  4H 

But  before  he  had  finished  speaking  Renshaw's  quick 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  had  so  far  overcome  his  first  indig 
nation  as  to  enable  him  even  to  admire  the  perfect  moral 
insensibility  of  his  companion.  As  he  rose  and  walked 
towards  the  door,  he  half  wondered  that  he  had  ever 
treated  the  affair  seriously.  With  a  smile  he  replied  : 

"  Far  from  bluffing,  Sleight,  I  am  throwing  my  cards 
on  the  table.  Consider  that  I  've-passed  out.  Let  some 
other  man  take  my  hand.  Rake  down  the  pot  if  you  like, 
old  man,  /  leave  for  Sacramento  to-night.  Adios" 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him  Mr.  Sleight 
summoned  his  clerk. 

"  Is  that  petition  for  grading  Pontiac  Street  ready  ?  " 

"  I  Ve  seen  the  largest  property  holders,  sir  ;  they  're 
only  waiting  for  you  to  sign  first."  Mr.  Sleight  paused 
and  then  affixed  his  signature  to  the  paper  his  clerk  laid 
before  him.  "Get  the  other  names  and  send  it  up  at 
once." 

"  If  Mr.  Nott  does  n't  sign,  sir  ? " 

"  No  matter.  He  will  be  assessed  all  the  same."  Mr. 
Sleight  took  up  his  hat. 

"  The  Lascar  seaman  that  was  here  the  other  day  has 
been  wanting  to  see  you,  sir.  I  said  you  were  busy." 

Mr.  Sleight  put  down  his  hat.     "  Send  him  up." 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Sleight  sat  down  and  at  once  ab 
stracted  himself  so  completely  as  to  be  apparently  in  ut 
ter  oblivion  of  the  man  who  entered.  He  was  lithe  and 
Indian-looking ;  bearing  in  dress  and  manner  the  care 
less  slouch  without  the  easy  frankness  of  a  sailor. 

"  Well !  "  said  Sleight  without  looking  up. 

"  I  was  only  wantin'  to  know  ef  you  had  any  news  for 
me,  boss  ? " 

"  News  ? "  echoed  Sleight  as  if  absently ;  "  news  of  m 
what  ? " 

"That  little  matter  of  the  Pontiac  we  talked  about, 


412  A  Ship  of  '49. 

boss,"  returned  the  Lascar  with  an  uneasy  servility  in  the 
whites  of  his  teeth  and  eyes. 

"Oh,"  said  Sleight,  "that's  played  out.  It's  a  regu 
lar  fraud.  It 's  an  old  forecastle  yarn,  my  man,  that  you 
can't  reel  off  in  the  cabin." 

The  sailor's  face  darkened. 

"The  man  who  was  looking  into  it  has  thrown  the 
whole  thing  up.  I  tell-  you  it 's  played  out !  "  repeated 
Sleight,  without  raising  his  head. 

"It's  true,  boss  —  every  word,"  said  the  Lascar,  with 
an  appealing  insinuation  that  seemed  to  struggle  hard 
with  savage  earnestness.  "  You  can  swear  me,  boss ;  I 
would  n't  lie  to  a  gentleman  like  you.  Your  man  has  n't 
half  looked,  or  else  —  it  must  be  there,  or  "  — 

"  That 's  just  it,"  said  Sleight  slowly ;  "  who  's  to  know 
that  your  friends  have  n't  been  there  already —  that  seems 
to  have  been  your  style." 

"  But  no  one  knew  it  but  me,  until  I  told  you,  I  swear 
to  God.  I  ain't  lying,  boss,  and  I  ain't  drunk.  Say  — 
don't  give  it  up,  boss.  That  man  of  yours  likely  don't 
believe  it,  because  he  don't  know  anything  about  it.  I 
^?— /could  find  it." 

A  silence  followed.  Mr.  Sleight  remained  completely 
absorbed  in  his  papers  for  some  moments.  Then  glanc 
ing  at  the  Lascar,  he  took  his  pen,  wrote  a  hurried  note, 
folded  it,  addressed  it,  and,  holding  it  between  his  fingers, 
leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  If  you  choose  to  take  this  note  to  my  man,  he  may 
give  it  another  show.  Mind,  I  don't  say  that  he  will. 
He 's  going  to  Sacramento  to-night,  but  you  could  go 
down  there  and  find  him  before  he  starts.  He  's  got  a 
room  there,  I  believe.  While  you  're  waiting  for  him.  you 
might  keep  your  eyes  open  to  satisfy  yourself." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  sailor,  eagerly  endeavoring  to 
catch  the  eye  of  his  employer.  But  Mr.  Sleight  looked 
straight  before  him,  and  he  turned  to  go. 


A  Skip  of  '</<?.  413 

"  The  Sacramento  boat  goes  at  nine,"  said  Mr.  Sleight 
quietly. 

This  time  their  glances  met,  and  the  Lascar's  eye  glis 
tened  with  subtle  intelligence.  The  next  moment  he  was 
gone,  and  Mr.  Sleight  again  became  absorbed  in  his  pa 
pers. 

Meanwhile  Renshaw  was  making  his  way  back  to  the 
Pontiac  with  that  light-hearted  optimism  that  had  charac 
terized  his  parting  with  Sleight.  It  was  this  quality  of  his 
nature,  fostered  perhaps  by  the  easy  civilization  in  which 
he  moved,  that  had  originally  drawn  him  into  relations 
with  the  man  he  just  quitted;  a  quality  that  had  been 
troubled  and  darkened  by  those  relations,  yet,  when  they 
were  broken,  at  once  returned.  It  consequently  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  he  had  only  selfishly  compromised  with 
the  difficulty ;  it  seemed  to  him  enough  that  he  had  with 
drawn  from  a  compact  he  thought  dishonorable  ;  he  was 
not  called  upon  to  betray  his  partner  in  that  compact 
merely  to  benefit  others.  He  had  been  willing  to  incur 
suspicion  and  loss  to  reinstate  himself  in  his  self-respect, 
more  he  could  not  do  without  justifying  that  suspicion. 
The  view  taken  by  Sleight  was,  after  all,  that  which  most 
business'  men  would  take  —  which  even  the  unbusiness 
like  Nott  would  take  —  which  the  girl  herself  might  be 
tempted  to  listen  to.  Clearly  he  could  do  nothing  but 
abandon  the  Pontiac  and  her  owner  to  the  fate  he  could 
not  in  honor  avert.  And  even  that  fate  was  problemati 
cal.  It  did  not  follow  that  the  treasure  was  still  con 
cealed  in  the  Pontiac,  nor  that  Nott  would  be  willing  to 
sell  her.  He  would  make  some  excuse  to  Nott  —  he 
smiled  to  think  he  would  probably  be  classed  in  the  long 
line  of  absconding  tenants — he  would  say  good-by  to 
Rosey,  and  leave  for  Sacramento  that  night.  He  ascended 
the  stairs  to  the  gangway  with  a  freer  breast  than  when 
he  first  entered  the  ship. 


414  A  Ship  of  '49. 

Mr.  Nott  was  evidently  absent,  and  after  a  quick  glance 
at  the  half-open  cabin-door,  Renshaw  turned  towards  the 
galley.  But  Miss  Rosey  was  not  in  her  accustomed 
haunt,  and  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment,  which  seemed 
inconsistent  with  so  slight  a  cause,  he  crossed  the  deck 
impatiently  and  entered  his  room.  He  was  about  to  close 
the  door  when  the  prolonged  rustle  of  a  trailing  skirt  in 
the  passage  attracted  his  attention.  The  sound  was  so 
unlike  that  made  by  any  garment  worn  by  Rosey  that  he 
remained  motionless,  with  his  hand  on  the  door.  The 
sound  approached  nearer,  and  the  next  moment  a  white 
veiled  figure  with  a  trailing  skirt  slowly  swept  past  the 
room.  Renshaw's  pulses  halted  for  an  instant  in  half 
superstitious  awe.  As  the  apparition  glided  on  and  van 
ished  in  the  cabin-door  he  could  only  see  that  it  was  the 
form  of  a  beautiful  and  graceful  woman  —  but  nothing 
more.  Bewildered  and  curious,  he  forgot  himself  so  far 
as  to  follow  it,  and  impulsively  entered  the  cabin.  The 
figure  turned,  uttered  a  little  cry,  threw  the  veil  aside, 
and  showed  the  half  troubled,  half  blushing  face  of 
Rosey. 

"I  —  beg  —  your  pardon,"  stammered  Renshaw;  "I 
did  n't  know  it  was  you." 

"  I  was  trying  on  some  things,"  said  Rosey,  recovering 
her  composure  and  pointing  to  an  open  trunk  that  seemed 
to  contain  a  theatrical  wardrobe  —  "  some  things  father 
gave  me  long  ago.  I  wanted  to  see  if  there  was  anything 
I  could  use.  I  thought  I  was  all  alone  in  the  ship,  but 
fancying  I  heard  a  noise  forward  I  came  out  to  see  what 
it  was.  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  you." 

She  raised  her  clear  eyes  to  his,  with  a  slight  touch  of 
womanly  reserve  that  was  so  incompatible  with  any  vulgar 
vanity  or  girlish  coquetry  that  he  became  the  more  em 
barrassed.  Her  dress,  too,  of  a  slightly  antique  shape, 
rich  but  simple,  seemed  to  reveal  and  accent  a  certain 


A  Ship  of  '49.  415 

repose  of  gentlewomanliness,  that  he  was  now  wishing  to 
believe  he  had  always  noticed.  Conscious  of  a  superi 
ority  in  her  that  now  seemed  to  change  their  relations 
completely,  he  alone  remained  silent,  awkward,  and  em 
barrassed  before  the  girl  who  had  taken  care  of  his  room, 
and  who  cooked  in  the  galley  !  What  he  had  thought 
lessly  considered  a  merely  vulgar  business  intrigue  against 
her  stupid  father,  now  to  his  extravagant  fancy  assumed 
the  proportions  of  a  sacrilege  to  herself. 

"  You  've  had  your  revenge,  Miss  Nott,  for  the  fright  I 
once  gave  you,"  he  said  a  little  uneasily,  "for  you  quite 
startled  me  just  now  as  you  passed.  I  began  to  think 
the  Pontiac  was  haunted.  I  thought  you  were  a  ghost. 
I  don't  know  why  such  a-  ghost  should  frighten  anybody," 
he  went  on  with  a  desperate  attempt  to  recover  his  posi 
tion  by  gallantry.  "  Let  me  see  —  that 's  Donna  Elvira's 
dress  —  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  that  was  the  poor  woman's  name,"  said 
Rosey  simply  •  "  she  died  of  yellow  fever  at  New  Orleans 
as  Signora  Somebody." 

Her  ignorance  seemed  to  Mr.  Renshaw  so  plainly  to 
partake  more  of  the  nun  than  the  provincial,  that  he  hesi 
tated  to  explain  to  her  that  he  meant  the  heroine  of  an 
opera. 

"  It  seems  dreadful  to  put  on  the  poor  thing's  clothes, 
does  n't  it?"  she  added. 

Mr.  Renshaw's  eyes  showed  so  plainly  that  he  thought 
otherwise,  that  she  drew  a  little  austerely  towards  the  door 
of  her  state-room. 

"  I  must  change  these  things  before  any  one  comes," 
she  said  dryly. 

"  That  means  I  must  go,  I  suppose.  But  could  n't  you 
let  me  wait  here  or  in  the  gangway  until  then,  Miss 
Nott  ?  I  am  going  away  to-night,  and  I  may  n't  see  you 
again."  He  had  not  intended  to  say  this,  but  it  slipped 


416  A  Ship  of  '49. 

from  his  embarrassed  tongue.  She  stopped  with  her 
hand  on  the  door. 

"  You  are  going  away  ? " 

"I  —  think  —  I  must  leave  to-night.  I  have  some  im 
portant  business  in  Sacramento." 

She  raised  her  frank  eyes  to  his.  The  unmistakable 
look  of  disappointment  that  he  saw  in  them  gave  his 
heart  a  sudden  throb  and  sent  the  quick  blood  to  his 
cheeks. 

"  It 's  too  bad,"  she  said,  abstractedly.  "  Nobody  ever 
seems  to  stay  here  long.  Captain  Bower  promised  to 
tell  me  all  about  the  ship,  and  he  went  away  the  second 
week.  The  photographer  left  before  Jie  finished  the  pic 
ture  of  the  Pontiac ;  Monsieur  de  Ferrieres  has  only  just 
gone  ;  and  now  you  are  going." 

"  Perhaps,  unlike  them,  I  have  finished  my  season  of 
usefulness  here,"  he  replied,  with  a  bitterness  he  would 
have  recalled  the  next  moment.  But  Rosey,  with  a  faint 
sigh,  saying,  "I  won't  be  long,"  entered  the  state-room 
and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

Renshaw  bit  his  lip  and  pulled  at  the  long  silken 
threads  of  his  mustache  until  they  smarted.  Why  had 
he  not  gone  at  once  ?  Why  was  it  necessary  to  say  he 
might  not  see  her  again  —  and  if  he  had  said  it,  why 
should  he  add  anything  more  ?  What  was  he  waiting  for 
now  ?  To  endeavor  to  prove  to  her  that  he  really  bore 
no  resemblance  to  Captain  Bower,  the  photographer,  the 
crazy  Frenchman  De  Ferrieres  ?  Or  would  he  be  forced 
to  tell  her  that  he  was  running  away  from  a  conspiracy  to 
defraud  her  father  —  merely  for  something  to  say  ?  Was 
there  ever  such  folly?  Rosey  was  "not  long,"  as  she 
had  said,  but  he  was  beginning  to  pace  the  narrow  cabin 
impatiently  when  the  door  opened  and  she  returned. 

She  had  resumed  her  ordinary  calico  gown,  but  such 
was  the  impression  left  upon  Renshaw's  fancy  that  she 


A  Ship  of  '4.9.  417 

seemed  to  wear  it  with  a  new  grace.  At  any  other  time 
he  might  have  recognized  the  change  as  due  to  a  new 
corset,  which  strict  veracity  compels  me  to  record  Rosey 
had  adopted  for  the  first  time  that  morning.  Howbeit, 
her  slight  coquetry  seemed  to  have  passed,  for  she  closed 
the  open  trunk  with  a  return  of  her  old  listless  air,  and 
sitting  on  it  rested  her  elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  oval 
chin  in  her  hands. 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  me  a  favor,"  she  said  after  a 
reflective  pause. 

"  Let  me  know  what  it  is  and  it  shall  be  done,"  replied 
Renshaw  quickly. 

"  If  you  should  come  across  Monsieur  de  Ferrieres,  or 
hear  of  him,  I  wish  you  would  let  me  know.  He  was 
very  poorly  when  he  left  here,  and  I  should  like  to  know 
if  he  was  better.  He  did  n't  say  where  he  was  going. 
At  least,  he  did  n't  tell  father ;  but  I  fancy  he  and  father 
don't  agree." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  of  having  even  that  opportunity 
of  making  you  remember  me,  Miss  Nott,"  returned 
Renshaw  with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  don't  suppose  either 
that  it  would  be  very  difficult  to  get  news  of  your  friend 
—  everybody  seems  to  know  him." 

"  But  not  as  I  did,"  said  Rosey,  with  an  abstracted  little 
sigh. 

Mr.  Renshaw  opened  his  brown  eyes  upon  her.  Was 
he  mistaken?  Was  this  romantic  girl  only  a  little  co 
quette  playing  her  provincial  airs  on  him?  "You  say 
he  and  your  father  did  n't  agree  ?  That  means,  I  sup 
pose,  that  you  and  he  agreed  ?  —  and  that  was  the 
result." 

"I  don't  think  father  knew  anything  about  it,"  said 
Rosey  simply. 

Mr.  Renshaw  rose.  And  this  was  what  he  had  been 
waiting  to  hear !  "  Perhaps,"  he  said  grimly,  "you  would 


4i 8  A  Ship  of  Vp. 

also  like  news  of  the  photographer  and  Captain  Bower, 
or  did  your  father  agree  with  them  better  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Rosey  quietly.  She  remained  silent  for  a 
moment,  and  lifting  her  lashes  said,  "  Father  always 
seemed  to  agree  with  you,  and  that "  —  she  hesitated. 

"  That 's  why  you  don't." 

"  I  did  n't  say  that,"  said  Rosey,  with  an  incongruous 
increase  of  coldness  and  color.  "  I  only  meant  to  say 
it  was  that  which  makes  it  seem  so  hard  you  should 
go  now." 

Notwithstanding  his  previous  determination  Renshaw 
found  himself  sitting  down  again.  Confused  and  pleased, 
wishing  he  had  said  more  —  or  less  —  he  said  nothing, 
and  Rosey  was  forced  to  continue. 

"  It 's  strange,  is  n't  it  —  but  father  was  urging  me  this 
morning  to  make  a  visit  to  some  friends  at  the  old  Ranch. 
I  did  n't  want  to  go.  I  like  it  much  better  here." 

"  But  you  cannot  bury  yourself  here  forever,  Miss  Nott," 
said  Renshaw,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  honest  enthusiasm. 
"  Sooner  or  later  you  will  be  forced  to  go  where  you  will 
be  properly  appreciated,  where  you  will  be  admired  and 
courted,  where  your  slightest  wish  will  be  law.  Believe 
me,  without  flattery,  you  don't  know  your  own  power." 

"  It  does  n't  seem  strong  enough  to  keep  even  the  little 
I  like  here,"  said  Rosey,  with  a  slight  glistening  of  the 
eyes.  "  But,"  she  added  hastily,  "  you  don't  know  how 
much  the  dear  old  ship  is  to  me.  It 's  the  only  home  I 
think  I  ever  had." 

"  But  the  Ranch  ?  "  said  Renshaw. 

"  The  Ranch  seemed  to  be  only  the  old  wagon  halted  in 
the  road.  It  was  a  very  little  improvement  on  out-doors," 
said  Rosey,  with  a  little  shiver.  "  But  this  is  so  cosy  and 
snug,  and  yet  so  strange  and  foreign.  Do  you  know  I 
think  I  began  to  understand  why  I  like  it  so  since  you 
taught  me  so  much  about  ships  and  voyages.  Before 


A  Ship  of  Vp-  419 

that  I  only  learned  from  books.  Books  deceive  you,  I 
think,  more  than  people  do.  Don't  you  think  so  ? " 

She  evidently  did  not  notice  the  quick  flush  that  cov 
ered  his  cheeks  and  apparently  dazzled  his  troubled  eye 
lids,  for  she  went  on  confidentially  : 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you  yesterday.  I  was  sitting  by  the 
galley  door,  looking  forward.  You  remember  the  first 
day  I  saw  you  when  you  startled  me  by  coming  up  out  of 
the  hatch?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  think  of  that,"  said  Renshaw, 
with  more  earnestness  than  he  would  have  made  ap 
parent. 

"  /  don't  want  to,  either,"  said  Rosey,  gravely,  "  for 
I  Ve  had  a  strange  fancy  about  it.  I  saw  once,  when  I 
was  younger,  a  picture  in  a  print  shop  in  Montgomery 
Street  that  haunted  me.  I  think  it  was  called  'The 
Pirate.'  There  were  a  number  of  wicked-looking  sailors 
lying  around  the  deck,  and  coming  out  of  the  hatch  was 
one  figure,  with  his  hands  on  the  deck  and  a  cutlass  in  his 
mouth." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Renshaw. 

"  You  don't  understand.  He  was  horrid-looking,  not 
at  all  like  you.  I  never  thought  of  him  when  I  first  saw 
you  ;  but  the  other  day  I  thought  how  dreadful  it  would 
have  been  if  some  one  like  him  and  not  like  you  had 
come  up  then.  That  made  me  nervous  sometimes  of 
being  alone.  I  think  father  is  too.  He  often  goes  about 
stealthily  at  night,  as  if  he  was  watching  for  something." 

Renshaw's  face  grew  suddenly  dark.  Could  it  be  pos 
sible  that  Sleight  had  always  suspected  him,  and  set  spies 
to  watch  —  or  was  he  guilty  of  some  double  intrigue  ? 

"  He  thinks,"  continued  Rosey,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  that  some  one  is  looking  round  the  ship,  and  talks  of 
setting  bear-traps.  I  hope  you  're  not  mad,  Mr.  Ren 
shaw,"  she  added,  suddenly  catching  sight  of  his  changed 


420  A  Ship  of  Vp- 

f 

expression,  "  at  my  foolishness  in  saying  you  reminded  me 
of  the  pirate.     I  meant  nothing." 

"  I  know  you  're  incapable  of  meaning  anything  but 
good  to  anybody,  Miss  Nott,  perhaps  to  me  more  than  I 
deserve,"  said  Renshaw,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  feeling. 
"  I  wish  —  I  wish  — you  would  do  me  a  favor.  You  asked 
me  one  just  now."  He  had  taken  her  hand.  It  seemed 
so  like  a  mere  illustration  of  his  earnestness,  that  she 
did  not  withdraw  it.  "  Your  father  tells  you  every 
thing.  If  he  has  any  offer  to  dispose  of  the  ship,  will 
you  write  to  me  at  once  before  anything  is  concluded  ? " 
He  winced  a  little  —  the  sentence  of  Sleight,  "  What 's 
the  figure  you  and  she  have  settled  upon  ?  "  flashed  across 
his  mind.  He  scarcely  noticed  that  Rosey  had  withdrawn 
her  hand  coldly. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  speak  to  father,  as  it  is  his 
business.  Besides,  I  shall  not  be  here.  I  shall  be  at  the 
Ranch." 

"  But  you  said  you  did  n't  want  to  go  ? " 

"  I  Ve  changed  my  mind,"  said  Rosey,  listlessly.  "  I 
shall  go  to-night." 

She  rose  as  if  to  indicate  that  the  interview  was  ended. 
With  an  overpowering  instinct  that  his  whole  future  hap 
piness  depended  upon  his  next  act,  he  made  a  step 
towards  her,  with  eager  outstretched  hands.  But  she 
slightly  lifted  her  own  with  a  warning  gesture,  "  I  hear 
father  coming  —  you  will  have  a  chance  to  talk  business 
with  him,"  she  said,  and  vanished  into  her  state-room. 


VI. 

The  heavy  tread  of  Abner  Nott  echoed  in  the  passage. 
Confused  and  embarrassed,  Renshaw  remained  standing 
at  the  door  that  had  closed  upon  Rosey  as  her  father 


A  Skip  of  '49.  421 

* 

entered  the  cabin.  Providence,  which  always  fostered 
Mr.  Nott's  characteristic  misconceptions,  left  that  per 
spicacious  parent  but  one  interpretation  of  the  situation. 
Rosey  had  evidently  just  informed  Mr.  Renshaw  that  she 
loved  another  ! 

"  I  was  just  saying  good-by  to  Miss  Nott,"  said  Ren 
shaw,  hastily  regaining  his  composure  with  an  effort.  "  I 
am  going  to  Sacramento  to-night,  and  will  not  return. 
I"  — 

"  In  course,  in  course,"  interrupted  Nott,  soothingly ; 
"  that 's  wot  you  say  now,  and  that 's  wot  you  allow  to  do. 
That 's  wot  they  allus  do." 

"  I  mean,"  said  Renshaw,  reddening  at  what  he  con 
ceived  to  be  an  allusion  to  the  absconding  propensities 
of  Nott's  previous  tenants,  —  "I  mean  that  you  shall 
keep  the  advance  to  cover  any  loss  you  might  suffer 
through  my  giving  up  the  rooms." 

"  Certingly,"  said  Nott,  laying  his  hand  with  a  large 
sympathy  on  Renshaw's  shoulder ;  "  but  we  '11  drop  that 
just  now.  We  won't  swap  hosses  in  the  middle  of  the 
river.  We  '11  square  up  accounts  in  your  room,"  he 
added,  raising  his  voice  that  Rosey  might  overhear  him, 
after  a  preliminary  wink  at  the  young  man.  "Yes,  sir, 
we  '11  just  square  up  and  settle  in  there.  Come  along, 
Mr.  Renshaw."  Pushing  him  with  paternal  gentleness 
from  the  cabin,  with  his  hand  still  upon  his  shoulder,  he 
followed  him  into  the  passage.  Half  annoyed  at  his 
familiarity,  yet  not  altogether  displeased  by  this  illustra 
tion  of  Rosey's  belief  of  his  preference,  Renshaw  wonder- 
ingly  accompanied  him.  Nott  closed  the  door,  and  push 
ing  the  young  man  into  a  chair,  deliberately  seated  himself 
at  the  table  opposite.  "It's  jist  as  well  that  Rosey 
reckons  that  you  and  me  is  settlin'  our  accounts,"  he  be 
gan,  cunningly,  "  and  mebbee  it 's  just  ez  well  ez  she 
should  reckon  you  're  goin'  away." 


422  A  Skip  of  '49. 

* 

"  But  I  am  going,"  interrupted  Renshaw,  impatiently. 
"  I  leave  to-night." 

"Surely,  surely,"  said  Nott,  gently,  "that's  wot  you 
kalkilate  to  do ;  that 's  just  nat'ral  in  a  young  feller. 
That's  about  what  I  reckon  /Whev  done  to  her  mother 
if  anythin'  like  this  hed  ever  cropped  up,  which  it  did  n't. 
Not  but  what  Almiry  Jane  had  young  fellers  enough 
round  her,  but,  'cept  ole  Judge  Peter,  ez  was  lamed  in 
the  War  of  1812,  there  ain't  no  similarity  ez  I  kin  see," 
he  added,  musingly. 

"I  am  afraid  I  can't  see  any  similarity  either,  Mr. 
Nott,"  said  Renshaw,  struggling  between  a  dawning  sense 
of  some  impending  absurdity  and  his  growing  passion  for 
Rosey.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  speak  out  if  you've  got 
anything  to  say." 

Mr.  Nott  leaned  forward  and  placed  his  large  hand  on 
the  young  man's  shoulder.  "  That 's  it.  That 's  what  I 
sed  to  myself  when  I  seed  how  things  were  pintin'. 
*  Speak  out,'  sez  I,  '  Abner !  Speak  out  if  you've  got 
anything  to  say.  You  kin  trust  this  yer  Mr.  Renshaw. 
He  ain't  the  kind  of  man  to  creep  into  the  bosom  of  a 
man's  ship  for  pupposes  of  his  own.  He  ain't  a  man 
that  would  hunt  round  until  he  discovered  a  poor  man's 
treasure,  and  then  try  to  rob '  "  — 

"  Stop  ! "  said  Renshaw,  with  a  set  face  and  darkening 
eyes.  "  What  treasure  ?  what  man  are  you  speaking 
of?" 

"Why  Rosey  and  Mr.  Ferrers,"  returned  Nott,  simply. 

Renshaw  sank  into  his  seat  again.  But  the  expression 
of  relief  which  here  passed  swiftly  over  his  face  gave  way 
to  one  of  uneasy  interest  as  Nott  went  on. 

"  P'r'aps  it 's  a  little  high-falutin'  talkin'  of  Rosey  ez  a 
treasure.  But,  considering  Mr.  Renshaw,  ez  she  's  the 
only  prop'ty  I  've  kept  by  me  for  seventeen  years  ez  hez 
paid  interest  and  increased  in  valoo,  it  ain't  sayin'  too 


A  Ship  of  '49.  423 

much  to  call  her  so.  And  ez  Ferrers  knows  this,  he 
oughter  been  content  with  gougin'  me  in  that  horse-hair 
spec,  without  goin'  for  Rosey.  PYaps  yer  surprised  at 
hearing  me  speak  o'  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ez  if  I  was 
talkin'  hoss-trade,  but  you  and  me  is  bus'ness  men,  Mr. 
Renshaw,  and  we  discusses  ez  such.  We  ain't  goin'  to 
slosh  round  and  slop  over  in  po'try  and  sentiment,"  con 
tinued  Nott,  with  a  tremulous  voice,  and  a  hand  that 
slightly  shook  on  Renshaw's  shoulder.  "  We  ain't  goin'  to 
git  up  and  sing,  '  Thou  'st  larned  to  love  another  thou  'st 
broken  every  vow  we  've  parted  from  each  other  and  my 
bozom  's  lonely  now  oh  is  it  well  to  sever  such  hearts  as 
ourn  forever  kin  I  forget  thee  never  farewell  farewell  fare 
well.'  Ye  never  happen'd  to  hear  Jim  Baker  sing  that  at 
the  moosic  hall  on  Dupont  Street,  Mr.  Renshaw,"  con 
tinued  Mr.  Nott,  enthusiastically,  when  he  had  recovered 
from  that  complete  absence  of  punctuation  which  alone 
suggested  verse  to  his  intellect.  "  He  sorter  struck  water 
down  here,"  indicating  his  heart,  "  every  time." 

"  But  what  has  Miss  Nott  to  do  with  M.  de  Ferrieres  ? " 
asked  Renshaw,  with  a  faint  smile. 

Mr.  Nott  regarded  him  with  dumb,  round,  astonished 
eyes.     "  Hez  n't  she  told  yer  ? " 
"  Certainly  not." 

"And  she  did  n't  let  on  anythin'  about  him  ? "  he  con 
tinued,  feebly. 

"  She  said  she  'd  like  to  know  where  "  —  He  stopped, 
with  the  reflection  that  he  was  betraying  her  confidences. 
A  dim  foreboding  of  some  new  form  of  deceit,  to  which 
even  the  man  before  him  was  a  consenting  party,  almost 
paralyzed  Nott's  faculties.  "Then  she  did  n't  tell  yer 
that  she  and  Ferrers  was  sparkin'  and  keepin'  kimpany 
together ;  that  she  and  him  was  engaged,  and  was  kalki- 
latin'  to  run  away  to  furrin  parts  ;  that  she  cottoned  to  him 
more  than  to  the  ship  or  her  father  ? " 


424  A  Ship  of  '49. 

11  She  certainly  did  not,  and  I  should  n't  believe  it," 
said  Renshaw,  quickly. 

Nott  smiled.  He  was  amused ;  he  astutely  recognized 
the  usual  trustfulness  of  love  and  youth.  There  was 
clearly  no  deceit  here  !  Renshaw's  attentive  eyes  saw 
the  smile,  and  his  brow  darkened. 

"  I  like  to  hear  yer  say  that,  Mr.  Renshaw,"  said  Nott, 
"  and  it 's  no  more  than  Rosey  deserves,  ez  it 's  suthing 
onnat'ral  and  spell  -  like  that 's  come  over  her  through 
Ferrers.  It  ain't  my  Rosey.  But  it's  Gospel  truth, 
whether  she  's  bewitched  or  not ;  whether  it 's  them  damn 
fool  stories  she  reads  —  and  it 's  like  ez  not  he 's  just  the 
kind  o'  snipe  to  write  'em  hisself,  and  sorter  advertise 
hisself,  don't  yer  see  —  she 's  allus  stuck  up  for  him. 
They  've  had  clandesent  interviews,  and  when  I  taxed 
him  with  it  he  ez  much  ez  allowed  it  was  so,  and  reck 
oned  he  must  leave,  so  ez  he  could  run  her  off,  you  know 
—  kinder  stampede  her  with  'honor.'  Them's  his  very 
words." 

"  But  that  is  all  past ;  he  is  gone,  and  Miss  Nott  does 
not  even  know  where  he  is  !  "  said  Renshaw,  with  a  laugh, 
which,  however,  concealed  a  vague  uneasiness. 

Mr.  Nott  rose  and  opened  the  door  carefully.  When 
he  had  satisfied  himself  that  no  one  was  listening,  he 
came  back  and  said  in  a  whisper,  "  That 's  a  lie.  Not  ez 
Rosey  means  to  lie,  but  it 's  a  trick  he 's  put  upon  that 
poor  child.  That  man,  Mr.  Renshaw,  hez  been  hangin' 
round  the  Pontiac  ever  since.  I  Ve  seed  him  twice  with 
my  own  eyes  pass  the  cabin  windys.  More  than  that, 
I  Ve  heard  strange  noises  at  night,  and  seen  strange  faces 
in  the  alley  over  yer.  And  only  jist  now  ez  I  kem  in  I 
ketched  sight  of  a  furrin-lookin'  Chine'e  nigger  slinking 
round  the  back  door  of  what  useter  be  Ferrers'  loft." 

"  Did  he  look  like  a  sailor  ? "  asked  Renshaw  quickly, 
with  a  return  of  his  former  suspicion. 


A  Skip  of  VP-  425 

"Not  more  than  I  do,"  said  Nott,  glancing  compla 
cently  at  his  pea-jacket.  "  He  had  rings  on  his  yeers  like 
a  wench." 

Mr.  Renshaw  started.  But  seeing  Nott's  eyes  fixed  on 
him,  he  said  lightly,  "  But  what  have  these  strange  faces 
and  this  strange  man  —  probably  only  a  Lascar  sailor 
out  of  a  job  —  to  do  with  Ferrieres  ? " 

"  Friends  o'  his  —  feller  furrin  citizens  —  spies  on 
Rosey,  don't  you  see  ?  But  they  can't  play  the  old  man, 
Mr.  Renshaw.  I  Ve  told  Rosey  she  must  make  a  visit 
to  the  old  Ranch.  Once  I  Ve  got  her  thar  safe,  I  reckon 
I  kin  manage  Mr.  Ferrers  and  any  number  of  Chinee  nig 
gers  he  kin  bring  along." 

Renshaw  remained  for  a  few  moments  lost  in  thought. 
Then  rising  suddenly,  he  grasped  Mr.  Nott's  hand  with  a 
frank  smile  but  determined  eyes.  "  I  have  n't  got  the 
hang  of  this,  Mr.  Nott  —  the  whole  thing  gets  me !  I 
only  know  that  I  Ve  changed  my  mind.  I  'm  not  going 
to  Sacramento.  I  shall  stay  here,  old  man,  until  I  see 
you  safe  through  the  business,  or  my  name 's  not  Dick 
Renshaw.  There  's  my  hand  on  it !  Don't  say  a  word. 
Maybe  it  is  no  more  than  I  ought  to  do  —  perhaps  not 
half  enough.  Only  remember,  not  a  word  of  this  to 
your  daughter.  She  must  believe  that  I  leave  to-night. 
And  the  sooner  you  get  her  out  of  this  cursed  ship  the 
better." 

"  Deacon  Flint's  girls  are  goin'  up  in  to-night's  boat. 
I  '11  send  Rosey  with  them,"  said  Nott,  with  a  cunning 
twinkle.  Renshaw  nodded.  Nott  seized  his  hand  with  a 
wink  of  unutterable  significance. 

Left  to  himself,  Renshaw  tried  to  review  more  calmly 
the  circumstances  in  these  strange  revelations  that  had 
impelled  him  to  change  his  resolution  so  suddenly.  That 
the  ship  was  under  the  surveillance  of  unknown  parties, 
and  that  the  description  of  them  tallied  with  his  own 


426  A  Ship  of  '49. 

knowledge  of  a  certain  Lascar  sailor,  who  was  one  of 
Sleight's  informants  —  seemed  to  be  more  than  proba 
ble.  That  this  seemed  to  point  to  Sleight's  disloyalty 
to  himself  while  he  was  acting  as  his  agent,  or  a  double 
treachery  on  the  part  of  Sleight's  informants,  was  in  either 
case  a  reason  and  an  excuse  for  his  own  interference. 
But  the  connection  of  the  absurd  Frenchman  with  the 
case,  which  at  first  seemed  a  characteristic  imbecility  of 
his  landlord,  bewildered  him  the  more  he  thought  of  it. 
Rejecting  any  hypothesis  of  the  girl's  affection  for  the 
antiquated  figure  whose  sanity  was  a  question  of  public 
criticism,  he  was  forced  to  the  equally  alarming  theory 
that  Ferrieres  was  cognizant  of  the  treasure,  and  that 
his  attentions  to  Rosey  were  to  gain  possession  of  it  by 
marrying  her.  Might  she  not  be  dazzled  by  a  picture  of 
this  wealth  ?  Was  it  not  possible  that  she  was  already 
in  part  possession  of  the  secret,  and  her  strange  attrac 
tion  to  the  ship,  and  what  he  had  deemed  her  innocent 
craving  for  information  concerning  it,  a  consequence  ? 
Why  had  he  not  thought  of  this  before?  Perhaps  she 
had  detected  his  purpose  from  the  first,  and  had  deliber 
ately  checkmated  him.  The  thought  did  not  increase  his 
complacency  as  Nott  softly  returned  : 

"  It 's  all  right,"  he  began  with  a  certain  satisfaction 
in  this  rare  opportunity  for  Machiavellian  diplomacy, 
"  it 's  all  fixed  now.  Rosey  tumbled  to  it  at  once,  partik- 
lerly  when  I  said  you  was  bound  to  go.  '  But  wot  makes 
Mr.  Renshaw  go,  father,'  sez  she ;  '  wot  makes  everybody 
run  away  from  the'  ship  ? '  sez  she,  rather  peart-like  and 
sassy  for  her.  *  Mr.  Renshaw  hez  contractin'  business,' 
sez  I ;  *  got  a  big  thing  up  in  Sacramento  that  '11  make 
his  fortun','  sez  I  —  for  I  was  n't  goin'  to  give  yer  away, 
don't  ye  see  ?  '  He  had  some  business  to  talk  to  you 
about  the  ship,'  sez  she,  lookin'  at  me  under  the  corner 
of  her  pocket-handkerchief.  '  Lots  o'  business,'  sez  I. 


A  Ship  of  '49.  427 

1  Then  I  reckon  he  don't  care  to  hev  me  write  to  him,' 
sez  she.  *  Not  a  bit,'  sez  I;  'he  would  n't  answer  ye  if 
ye  did.  Ye  '11  never  hear  from  that  chap  agin.'  " 

"  But  what  the  devil "  —  interrupted  the  young  man 
impetuously. 

"  Keep  yer  hair  on  !  "  remonstrated  the  old  man  with 
dark  intelligence.  "  Ef  you'd  seen  the  way  she  flounced 
into  her  state-room  !  —  she,  Rosey,  ez  allus  moves  ez 
softly  ez  a  spirit  —  you  'd  hev  wished  I  'd  hev  unloaded 
a  little  more.  No  sir,  gals  is  gals  in  some  things  all  the 
time." 

Renshaw  rose  and  paced  the  room  rapidly.  "  Perhaps 
I  'd  better  speak  to  her  again  before  she  goes,"  he  said, 
impulsively. 

"  P'r'aps  you  'd  better  not,"  replied  the  imperturbable 
Nott. 

Irritated  as  he  was,  Renshaw  could  not  avoid  the  re 
flection  that  the  old  man  was  right.  What,  indeed,  could 
he  say  to  her  with  his  present  imperfect  knowledge? 
How  could  she  write  to  him  if  that  knowledge  was  cor 
rect  ? 

"  Ef,"  said  Nott,  kindly,  with  a  laying  on  of  large  bene 
dictory  and  paternal  hands,  "  ef  ye  're  willin'  to  see  Rosey 
agin,  without  speakirf  to  her,  I  reckon  I  ken  fix  it  for  yer. 
I  'm  goin'  to  take  her  down  to  the  boat  in  half  an  hour. 
Ef  yer  should  happen  —  mind,  ef  yer  should  happen  to  be 
down  there,  seein'  some  friends  off  and  sorter  promenad- 
in'  up  and  down  the  wharf  like  them  high-toned  chaps  on 
Montgomery  Street  —  ye  might  ketch  her  eye  unconscious 
like.  Or,  ye  might  do  this  !  "  He  rose  after  a  moment's 
cogitation  and  with  a  face  of  profound  mystery  opened 
the  door  and  beckoned  Renshaw  to  follow  him.  Leading 
the  way  cautiously,  he  brought  the  young  man  into  an 
open  unpartitioned  recess  beside  her  state-room.  It 
seemed  to  be  used  as  a  store-room,  and  Renshaw's  eye 


428  A  Skip  of  '49. 

was  caught  by  a  trunk  the  size  and  shape  of  the  one  that 
had  provided  Rosey  with  the  materials  of  her  masquerade. 
Pointing  to  it,  Mr.  Nott  said  in  a  grave  whisper :  "  This 
yer  trunk  is  the  companion  trunk  to  Rosey's.  She 's  got 
the  things  them  opery  women  wears  ;  this  yer  contains  the 
he  things,  the  duds  and  fixins  o'  the  men  o'  the  same 
stripe."  Throwing  it  open  »he  continued  :  "  Now,  Mr. 
Renshaw,  gals  is  gals  ;  it 's  nat'ral  they  should  be  took 
by  fancy  dress  and  store  clothes  on  young  chaps  as  on 
theirselves.  That  man  Ferrers  hez  got  the  dead  wood  on 
all  of  ye  in  this  sort  of  thing,  and  hez  been  playing,  so  to 
speak,  a  lone  hand  all  along.  And  ef  thar  's  anythin'  in 
thar,"  he  added,  lifting  part  of  a  theatrical  wardrobe, 
"  that  you  think  you  'd  fancy  —  anythin'  you  'd  like  to  put 
on  when  ye  promenade  the  wharf  down  yonder  —  it's 
yours.  Don't  ye  be  bashful,  but  help  yourself." 

It  was  fully  a  minute  before  Renshaw  fairly  grasped 
the  old  man's  meaning.  But  when  he  did  —  when  the 
suggested  spectacle  of  himself  arrayed  a  la  Ferrieres, 
gravely  promenading  the  wharf  as  a  last  gorgeous  appeal 
to  the  affections  of  Rosey,  rose  before  his  fancy,  he  gave 
way  to  a  fit  of  genuine  laughter.  The  nervous  tension  of 
the  past  few  hours  relaxed  j  he  laughed  until  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes  ;  he  was  still  laughing  when  the  door  of 
the  cabin  suddenly  opened  and  Rosey  appeared  cold  and 
distant  on  the  threshold. 

"I  —  beg  your  pardon,"  stammered  Renshaw  hastily. 
"  I  did  n't  mean  —  to  disturb  you  —  I  "  — 

Without  looking  at  him  Rosey  turned  to  her  father. 
"  I  am  ready,"  she  said  coldly,  and  closed  the  door  again. 

A  glance  of  artful  intelligence  came  into  Nott's  eyes, 
which  had  remained  blankly  staring  at  Renshaw's  appar 
ently  causeless  hilarity.  Turning  to  him  he  winked  sol 
emnly.  "  That  keerless  kind  o'  hoss-laff  jist  fetched  her," 
he  whispered,  and  vanished  before  his  chagrined  compan 
ion  could  reply. 


A  Skip  of  '49.  429 

When  Mr.  Nott  and  his  daughter  departed,  Renshaw 
was  not  in  the  ship,  neither  did  he  make  a  spectacular 
appearance  on  the  wharf  as  Mr.  Nott  had  fondly  expected, 
nor  did  he  turn  up  again  until  after  nine  o'clock,  when  he 
found  the  old  man  in  the  cabin  awaiting  his  return  with 
some  agitation.  "  A  minit  ago,"  he  said,  mysteriously 
closing  the  door  behind  Renshaw,  "  I  heard  a  voice  in  the 
passage,  and  goin'  out,  who  should  I  see  agin  but  that 
darned  furrin  nigger  ez  I  told  yer  'bout,  kinder  hidin'  in 
the  dark,  his  eyes  shinin'  like  a  catamount.  I  was  jist 
reachin'  for  my  weppins  when  he  riz  up  with  a  grin  and 
handed  me  this  yer  letter.  I  told  him  I  reckoned  you  'd 
gone  to  Sacramento,  but  he  said  he  wez  sure  you  was  in 
your  room,  and  to  prove  it  I  went  thar.  But  when  I  kem 
back  the  d — d  skunk  had  vamosed  —  got  frightened  I 
reckon  —  and  was  n't  nowhar  to  be  seen." 

Renshaw  took  the  letter  hastily.  It  contained  only  a 
line  in  Sleight's  hand.  "  If  you  change  your  mind,  the 
bearer  may  be  of  service  to  you." 

He  turned  abruptly  to  Nott.  "You  say  it  was  the 
same  Lascar  you  saw  before  ?  " 

"It  was." 

"  Then  all  I  can  say  is,  he  is  no  agent  of  De  Ferrieres'," 
said  Renshaw,  turning  away  with  a  disappointed  air.  Mr. 
Nott  would  have  asked  another  question,  but  with  an 
abrupt  "  Good-night "  the  young  man  entered  his  room, 
locked  the  door,  and  threw  himself  on  his  bed  to  reflect 
without  interruption. 

But  if  he  was  in  no  mood  to  stand  Nott's  fatuous  con 
jectures,  he  was  less  inclined  to  be  satisfied  with  his  own. 
Had  he  been  again  carried  away  through  his  impulses 
evoked  by  the  caprices  of  a  pretty  coquette  and  the  absurd 
theories  of  her  half  imbecile  father  ?  Had  he  broken  faith 
with  Sleight  and  remained  in  the  ship  for  nothing,  and 
would  not  his  change  of  resolution  appear  to  be  the  result 


430  A  Ship  of  '49. 

of  Sleight's  note  ?  But  why  had  the  Lascar  been  haunt 
ing  the  ship  before  ?  In  the  midst  of  these  conjectures 
he  fell  asleep. 


VII. 

Between  three  and  four  in  the  morning  the  clouds 
broke  over  the  Pontiac,  and  the  moon,  riding  high, 
picked  out  in  black  and  silver  the  long  hulk  that  lay 
cradled  between  the  iron  shells  and  warehouses  and  the 
wooden  frames  and  tenements  on  either  side.  The  gal 
ley  and  covered  gangway  presented  a  mass  of  undefined 
shadow,  against  which  the  white  deck  shone  brightly, 
stretching  to  the  forecastle  and  bows,  where  the  tiny  glass 
roof  of  the  photographer  glistened  like  a  gem  in  the 
Pontiac's  crest.  So  peaceful  and  motionless  she  lay 
that  she  might  have  been  some  petrifaction  of  a  past  age 
now  first  exhumed  and  laid  bare  to  the  cold  light  of  the 
stars. 

Nevertheless,  this  calm  security  was  presently  invaded 
by  a  sense  of  stealthy  life  and  motion.  What  had  seemed 
a  fixed  shadow  suddenly  detached  itself  from  the  deck 
and  began  to  slip  stanchion  by  stanchion  along  the  bul 
warks  toward  the  companion-way.  At  the  cabin-door  it 
halted  and  crouched  motionless.  Then  rising,  it  glided 
forward  with  the  same  staccato  movement  until  opposite 
the  slight  elevation  of  the  forehatch.  Suddenly  it  darted 
to  the  hatch,  unfastened  and  lifted  it  with  a  swift,  familiar 
dexterity,  and  disappeared  in  the  opening.  But  as  the 
moon  shone  upon  its  vanishing  face,  it  revealed  the  whit 
ening  eyes  and  teeth  of  the  Lascar  seaman. 

Dropping  to  the  lower  deck  lightly,  he  felt  his  way 
through  the  dark  passage  between  the  partitions,  evident 
ly  less  familiar  to  him,  halting  before  each  door  to  listen. 


A  Ship  of  '49.  431 

Returning  forward  he  reached  the  second  hatchway  that 
had  attracted  Rosey's  attention,  and  noiselessly  unclosed 
its  fastenings.  A  penetrating  smell  of  bilge  arose  from 
the  opening.  Drawing  a  small  bull's-eye  lantern  from  his 
breast  he  lit  it,  and  unhesitatingly  let  himself  down  to  the 
further  depth.  The  moving  flash  of  his  light  revealed 
the  recesses  of  the  upper  hold,  the  abyss  of  the  well 
amidships,  and  glanced  from  the  shining  backs  of  moving 
zigzags  of  rats  that  seemed  to  outline  the  shadowy  beams 
and  transoms.  Disregarding  those  curious  spectators  of 
his  movements,  he  turned  his  attention  eagerly  to  the 
inner  casings  of  the  hold,  that  seemed  in  one  spot  to  have 
been  strengthened  by  fresh  timbers.  Attacking  this 
stealthily  with  the  aid  of  some  tools  hidden  in  his  oil-skin 
clothing,  in  the  light  of  the  lantern  he  bore  a  fanciful 
resemblance  to  the  predatory  animals  around  him.  The 
low  continuous  sound  of  rasping  and  gnawing  of  timber 
which  followed  heightened  the  resemblance.  At  the  end 
of  a  few  minutes  he  had  succeeded  in  removing  enough 
of  the  outer  planking  to  show  that  the  entire  filling  of  the 
casing  between  the  stanchions  was  composed  of  small 
boxes.  Dragging  out  one  of  them  with  feverish  eagerness 
to  the  light,  the  Lascar  forced  it  open.  In  the  rays  of 
the  bull's-eye,  a  wedged  mass  of  discolored  coins  showed 
with  a  lurid  glow.  The  story  of  the  Pontiac  was  true  — 
the  treasure  was  there  ! 

But  Mr.  Sleight  had  overlooked  the  logical  effect  of  this 
discovery  on  the  natural  villainy  of  his  tool.  In  the  very 
moment  of  his  triumphant  execution  of  his  patron's  sug 
gestions  the  idea  of  keeping  the  treasure  to  himself  flashed 
upon  his  mind.  He  had  discovered  it  —  why  should 
he  give  it  up  to  anybody  ?  He  had  run  all  the  risks  \  if  he 
were  detected  at  that  moment,  who  would  believe  that  his 
purpose  there  at  midnight  was  only  to  satisfy  some  one 
else  that  the  treasure  was  still  intact  ?  No.  The  circum- 


432  A  Skip  of  '^p. 

stances  were  propitious  j  he  would  get  the  treasure  out  of 
the  ship  at  once,  drop  it  over  her  side,  hastily  conceal  it 
in  the  nearest  lot  adjacent,  and  take  it  away  at  his  con 
venience.  Who  would  be  the  wiser  for  it  ? 

But  it  was  necessary  to  reconnoiter  first.  He  knew 
that  the  loft  overhead  was  empty.  He  knew  that  it  com 
municated  with  the  alley,  for  he  had  tried  the  door  that 
morning.  He  would  convey  the  treasure  there  and  drop 
it  into  the  alley.  The  boxes  were  heavy.  Each  one 
would  require  a  separate  journey  to  the  ship's  side,  but  he 
would  at  least  secure  something  if  he  were  interrupted. 
He  stripped  the  casing,  and  gathered  the  boxes  together 
in  a  pile. 

Ah,  yes,  it  was  funny  too  that  he  —  the  Lascar  hound 
—  the  d — d  nigger  —  should  get  what  bigger  and  bul- 
lier  men  than  he  had  died  for  !  The  mate's  blood  was 
on  those  boxes,  if  the  salt  water  had  not  washed  it  out. 
It  was  a  hell  of  a  fight  when  they  dragged  the  captain  — 
Oh,  what  was  that  ?  Was  it  the  splash  of  a  rat  in  the  bilge, 
or  what  ? 

A  superstitious  terror  had  begun  to  seize  him  at  the 
thought  of  blood.  The  stifling  hold  seemed  again  filled 
with  struggling  figures  he  had  known,  the  air  thick  with 
cries  and  blasphemies  that  he  had  forgotten.  He  rose  to 
his  feet,  and  running  quickly  to  the  hatchway,  leaped  to 
the  deck  above.  All  was  quiet.  The  door  leading  to  the 
empty  loft  yielded  to  his  touch.  He  entered,  and,  gliding 
through,  unbarred  and  opened  the  door  that  gave  upon 
the  alley.  The  cold  air  and  moonlight  flowed  in  silently ; 
the  way  of  escape  was  clear.  Bah  !  He  would  go'  back 
for  the  treasure. 

He  had  reached  the  passage  when  the  door  he  had  just 
opened  was  suddenly  darkened.  Turning  rapidly,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  gaunt  figure,  grotesque,  silent,  and  erect, 
looming  on  the  threshold  between  him  and  the  sky.  Hid- 


A  Ship  of  '49.  433 

den  in  the  shadow,  he  made  a  stealthy  step  towards  it, 
with  an  iron  wrench  in  his  uplifted  hand.  But  the  next 
moment  his  eyes  dilated  with  superstitious  horror ;  the 
iron  fell  from  his  hand,  and  with  a  scream,  like  a  fright 
ened  animal,  he  turned  and  fled  into  the  passage.  In  the 
first  access  of  his  blind  terror  he  tried  to  reach  the  deck 
above  through  the  forehatch,  but  was  stopped  by  the 
sound  of  a  heavy  tread  overhead.  The  immediate  fear 
of  detection  now  overcame  his  superstition  ;  he  would 
have  even  faced  the  apparition  again  to  escape  through 
the  loft  •  but,  before  he  could  return  there,  other  footsteps 
approached  rapidly  from  the  end  of  the  passage  he  would 
have  to  traverse.  There  was  but  one  chance  of  escape 
left  now  —  the  forehold  he  had  just  quitted.  He  might 
hide  there  until  the  alarm  was  over.  He  glided  back  to 
the  hatch,  lifted  it,  and  closed  it  softly  over  his  head  as 
the  upper  hatch  was  simultaneously  raised,  and  the  small 
round  eyes  of  Abner  Nott  peered  down  upon  it.  The 
other  footsteps  proved  to  be  Renshaw's,  but,  attracted  by 
the  open  door  of  the  loft,  he  turned  aside  and  entered. 
As  soon  as  he  disappeared  Mr.  Nott  cautiously  dropped 
through  the  opening  to  the  deck  below,  and,  going  to  the 
other  hatch  through  which  the  Lascar  had  vanished,  de 
liberately  refastened  it.  In  a  few  moments  Renshaw  re 
turned  with  a  light,  and  found  the  old  man  sitting  on  the 
hatch. 

"  The  loft-door  was  open,"  said  Renshaw.  "  There 's 
little  doubt  whoever  was  here  escaped  that  way." 

"  Surely,"  said  Nott.  There  was  a  peculiar  look  of 
Machiavellian  sagacity  in  his  face  which  irritated  Ren 
shaw. 

"  Then  you  're  sure  it  was  Ferrieres  you  saw  pass  by 
your  window  before  you  called  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

Nott  nodded  his  head  with  an  expression  of  infinite 
profundity. 


434  A  Ship  of  Vp. 

"  But  you  say  he  was  going  from  the  ship.  Then  it 
could  not  have  been  he  who  made  the  noise  we  heard 
down  here." 

"  Mebbee  no,  and  mebbee  yes,"  returned  Nott,  cau 
tiously. 

"  But  if  he  was  already  concealed  inside  the  ship,  as 
that  open  door,  which  you  say  you  barred  from  the  inside, 
would  indicate,  what  the  devil  did  he  want  with  this  ? " 
said  Renshaw,  producing  the  monkey-wrench  he  had 
picked  up. 

Mr.  Nott  examined  the  tool  carefully,  and  shook  his 
head  with  momentous  significance.  Nevertheless,  his 
eyes  wandered  to  the  hatch  on  which  he  was  seated. 

"Did  you  find  anything  disturbed  //k?/r?"said  Ren 
shaw,  following  the  direction  of  his  eye.  "  Was  that  hatch 
fastened  as  it  is  now  ?  " 

"  It  was,"  said  Nott,  calmly.  "  But  ye  would  n't  mind 
fetchin'  me  a  hammer  and  some  o'  them  big  nails  from 
the  locker,  would  yer,  while  I  hang  round  here  just  so  ez 
to  make  sure  against  another  attack." 

Renshaw  complied  with  his  request ;  but  as  Nott  pro 
ceeded  to  gravely  nail  down  the  fastenings  of  the  hatch, 
he  turned  impatiently  away  to  complete  his  examination 
of  the  ship.  The  doors  of  the  other  lofts  and  their  fasten 
ings  appeared  secure  and  undisturbed.  Yet  it  was  un 
deniable  that  a  felonious  entrance  had  been  made,  but 
by  whom  or  for  what  purpose,  still  remained  uncertain. 
Even  now,  Renshaw  found  it  difficult  to  accept  Nott's 
theory  that  De  Ferrieres  was  the  aggressor  and  Rosey 
the  object,  nor  could  he  justify  his  own  suspicion  that 
the  Lascar  had  obtained  a  surreptitious  entrance  under 
Sleight's  directions.  With  a  feeling  that  if  Rosey  had 
been  present  he  would  have  confessed  all,  and  demanded 
from  her  an  equal  confidence,  he  began  to  hate  his  feeble, 
purposeless,  and  inefficient  alliance  with  her  father,  who 


A  Ship  of  Vp-  435 

believed  but  dared  not  tax  his  daughter  with  complicity 
in  this  outrage.  What  could  be  done  with  a  man  whose 
only  idea  of  action  at  such  a  moment  was  to  nail  up  an 
undisturbed  entrance  in  his  invaded  house  !  He  was  so 
preoccupied  with  these  thoughts  that  when  Nott  rejoined 
him  in  the  cabin  he  scarcely  heeded  his  presence,  and 
was  entirely  oblivious  of  the  furtive  looks  which  the  old 
man  from  time  to  time  cast  upon  his  face. 

"  I  reckon  ye  would  n't  mind,"  broke  in  Nott,  sud 
denly,  "  ef  I  asked  a  favor  of  ye,  Mr.  Renshaw.  Meb- 
bee  ye  '11  allow  it 's  askin'  too  much  in  the  matter  of  ex 
pense  ;  mebbee  ye  '11  allow  it 's  askin'  too  much  in  the 
matter  o'  time.  But  /  kalkilate  to  pay  all  the  expense, 
and  if  you  'd  let  me  know  what  yer  vally  yer  time  at,  I 
reckon  I  could  stand  that.  What  I  'd  be  askin'  is  this. 
Would  ye  mind  takin'  a  letter  from  me  to  Rosey,  and 
bringin'  back  an  answer  ?  " 

Renshaw  stared  speechlessly  at  this  absurd  realization 
of  his  wish  of  a  moment  before.  "  I  don't  think  I  un 
derstand  you,"  he  stammered. 

"  P'r'aps  not,"  returned  Nott,  with  great  gravity.  "  But 
that 's  not  so  much  matter  to  you  ez  your  time  and  ex 
penses." 

"  I  meant  I  should  be  glad  to  go  if  I  can  be  of  any 
service  to  you,"  said  Renshaw,  hastily. 

"  You  kin  ketch  the  seven-o'clock  boat  this  morning, 
and  you  '11  reach  San  Rafael  at  ten  "  — 

"  But  I  thought  Miss  Rosey  went  to  Petaluma,"  inter 
rupted  Renshaw  quickly. 

Nott  regarded  him  with  an  expression  of  patronizing 
superiority.  "  That 's  what  we  ladled  out  to  the  public 
gin'rally,  and  to  Ferrers  and  his  gang  in  partickler.  We 
said  Petalumey,  but  if  you  go  to  Madrono  Cottage,  San 
Rafael,  you  '11  find  Rosey  thar." 

If  Mr.  Renshaw  required  anything  more  to  convince 


436  A  Ship  of  '49. 

him  of  the  necessity  of  coming  to  some  understanding 
with  Rosey  at  once  it  would  have  been  this  last  evidence 
of  her  father's  utterly  dark  and  supremely  inscrutable 
designs.  He  assented  quickly,  and  Nott  handed  him  a 
note. 

"  Ye  '11  be  partickler  to  give  this  inter  her  own  hands, 
and  wait  for  an  answer,"  said  Nott  gravely. 

Resisting  the  proposition  to  enter  then  and  there  into 
an  elaborate  calculation  of  the  value  of  his  time  and  the 
expenses  of  the  trip,  Renshaw  found  himself  at  seven 
o'clock  on  the  San  Rafael  boat.  Brief  as  was  the  jour 
ney  it  gave  him  time  to  reflect  upon  his  coming  interview 
with  Rosey.  He  had  resolved  to  begin  by  confessing 
all ;  the  attempt  of  last  night  had  released  him  from  any 
sense  of  duty  to  Sleight.  Besides,  he  did  not  doubt  that 
Nott's  letter  contained  some  reference  to  this  affair  only 
known  to  Nott's  dark  and  tortuous  intelligence. 


VIII. 

Madrono  Cottage  lay  at  the  entrance  of  a  little  Canada 
already  green  with  the  early  winter  rains,  and  nestled  in 
a  thicket  of  the  harlequin  painted  trees  that  gave  it  a 
name.  The  young  man  was  a  little  relieved  to  find  that 
Rosey  had  gone  to  the  post-office  a  mile  away,  and  that 
he  would  probably  overtake  her  or  meet  her  returning  — 
alone.  The  road  —  little  more  than  a  trail  —  wound 
along  the  crest  of  the  hill  looking  across  the  Canada  to 
the  long,  dark,  heavily-wooded  flank  of  Mount  Tamalpais 
that  rose  from  the  valley  a  dozen  miles  away.  A  cessa 
tion  of  the  warm  rain,  a  rift  in  the  sky,  and  the  rare  spec 
tacle  of  cloud  scenery,  combined  with  a  certain  sense  of 
freedom,  restored  that  light-hearted  gayety  that  became 
him  most.  At  a  sudden  turn  of  the  road  he  caught  sight 


A  Ship  of  Vp.  437 

of  Rosey's  figure  coming  towards  him,  and  quickened  his 
step  with  the  impulsiveness  of  a  boy.  But  she  suddenly 
disappeared,  and  when  he  again  saw  her  she  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  trail  apparently  picking  the  leaves  of  a 
manzanita.  She  had  already  seen  him. 

Somehow  the  frankness  of  his  greeting  was  checked. 
She  looked  up  at  him  with  cheeks  that  retained  enough 
of  their  color  to  suggest  why  she  had  hesitated,  and  said, 
"  You  here,  Mr.  Renshaw  ?  I  thought  you  were  in  Sac 
ramento." 

"  And  I  thought  you  were  in  Petaluma,"  he  retorted 
gayly.  "  I  have  a  letter  from  your  father.  The  fact  is, 
one  of  those  gentlemen  who  has  been  haunting  the  ship 
actually  made  an  entry  last  night.  Who  he  was,  and 
what  he  came  for,  nobody  knows.  Perhaps  your  father 
gives  you  his  suspicions."  He  could  not  help  looking  at 
her  narrowly  as  he  handed  her  the  note.  Except  that 
her  pretty  eyebrows  were  slightly  raised  in  curiosity  she 
seemed  undisturbed  as  she  opened  the  letter.  Presently 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  Is  this  all  father  gave  you  ? " 

"  All." 

"  You  're  sure  you  have  n't  dropped  anything  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  have  given  you  all  he  gave  me." 

"And  that  is  all  it  is."  She  exhibited  the  missive,  a 
perfectly  blank  sheet  of  paper  folded  like  a  note  ! 

Renshaw  felt  the  angry  blood  glow  in  his  cheeks. 
"  This  is  unpardonable  !  I  assure  you,  Miss  Nott,  there 
must  be  some  mistake.  He  himself  has  probably  forgot 
ten  the  inclosure,"  he  continued,  yet  with  an  inward  con 
viction  that  the  act  was  perfectly  premeditated  on  the 
part  of  the  old  man. 

The  young  girl  held  out  her  hand  frankly.  "  Don't 
think  any  more  of  it,  Mr.  Renshaw.  Father  is  forgetful 
at  times.  But  tell  me  about  last  night." 


438  A  Ship  of  '49. 

In  a  few  words  Mr.  Renshaw  briefly  but  plainly  related 
the  details  of  the  attempt  upon  the  Pontiac,  from  the  mo 
ment  that  he  had  been  awakened  by  Nott,  to  his  discovery 
of  the  unknown  trespasser's  flight  by  the  open  door  to 
the  loft.  When  he  had  finished,  he  hesitated,  and  then 
taking  Rosey's  hand,  said  impulsively,  "You  will  not  be 
angry  with  me  if  I  tell  you  all  ?  Your  father  firmly  be 
lieves  that  the  attempt  was  made  by  the  old  Frenchman, 
De  Ferrieres,  with  a  view  of  carrying  you  off." 

A  dozen  reasons  other  than  the  one  her  father  would 
have  attributed  it  to  might  have  called  the  blood  to  her 
face.  But  only  innocence  could  have  brought  the  look 
of  astonished  indignation  to  her  eyes  as  she  answered 
quickly : 

"  So  that  was  what  you  were  laughing  at  ?  " 

"  Not  that,  Miss  Nott,"  said  the  young  man  eagerly ; 
"  though  I  wish  to  God  I  could  accuse  myself  of  nothing 
more  disloyal.  Do  not  speak,  I  beg,"  he  added  impa 
tiently,  as  Rosey  was  about  to  reply.  "  I  have  no  right 
to  hear  you ;  I  have  no  right  to  even  stand  in  your  pres 
ence  until  I  have  confessed  everything.  I  came  to  the 
Pontiac ;  I  made  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Nott,  through 
a  fraud  as  wicked  as  anything  your  father  charges  to  De 
Ferrieres.  I  am  not  a  contractor.  I  never  was  an  hon 
est  lodger  in  the  Pontiac.  I  was  simply  a  spy." 

"  But  you  did  n't  mean  to  be  —  it  was  some  mistake, 
was  n't  it  ?  "  said  Rosey,  quite  white,  but  more  from  sym 
pathy  with  the  offender's  emotion  than  horror  at  the 
offense. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  did  mean  it.  But  bear  with  me  for 
a  few  moments  longer  and  you  shall  know  all.  It 's  a 
long  story.  Will  you  walk  on,  and  —  take  my  arm  ? 
You  do  not  shrink  from  me,  Miss  Nott.  Thank  you.  I 
scarcely  deserve  the  kindness." 

Indeed  so  little  did  Rosey  shrink  that  he  was  conscious 


A  Skip  of  '49.  439 

of  a  slight  reassuring  pressure  on  his  arm  as  they  moved 
forward,  and  for  the  moment  I  fear  the  young  man  felt 
like  exaggerating  his  offense  for  the  sake  of  proportion 
ate  sympathy.  "  Do  you  remember,"  he  continued,  "  one 
evening  when  I  told  you  some  sea  tales,  you  said  you  al 
ways  thought  there  must  be  some  story  about  the  Pon- 
tiac  ?  There  was  a  story  of  the  Pontiac,  Miss  Nott  — 
a  wicked  story  —  a  terrible  story  —  which  I  might  have 
told  you,  which  I  ought  to  have  told  you  —  which  was 
the  story  that  brought  me  there.  You  were  right,  too, 
in  saying  that  you  thought  I  had  known  the  Pontiac  be 
fore  I  stepped  first  on  her  deck  that  day.  I  had." 

He  laid  his  disengaged  hand  across  lightly  on  Rosey's, 
as  if  to  assure  himself  that  she  was  listening. 

"  I  was  at  that  time  a  sailor.  I  had  been  fool  enough 
to  run  away  from  college,  thinking  it  a  fine  romantic  thing 
to  ship  before  the  mast  for  a  voyage  round  the  world.  I 
was  a  little  disappointed,  perhaps,  but  I  made  the  best 
of  it,  and  in  two  years  I  was  the  second  mate  of  a  whaler 
lying  in  a  little  harbor  of  one  of  the  uncivilized  islands  of 
the  Pacific.  While  we  were  at  anchor  there  a  French 
trading  vessel  put  in,  apparently  for  water.  She  had  the 
dregs  of  a  mixed  crew  of  Lascars  and  Portuguese,  who 
said  they  had  lost  the  rest  of  their  men  by  desertion,  and 
that  the  captain  and  mate  had  been  carried  off  by  fever. 
There  was  something  so  queer  in  their  story  that  our 
skipper  took  the  law  in  his  own  hands,  and  put  me  on 
board  of  her  with  a  salvage  crew.  But  that  night  the 
French  crew  mutinied,  cut  the  cables,  and  would  have 
got  to  sea  if  we  had  not  been  armed  and  prepared,  and 
managed  to  drive  them  below.  When  we  had  got  them 
under  hatches  for  a  few  hours  they  parleyed,  and  offered 
to  go  quietly  ashore.  As  we  were  short  of  hands  and  un 
able  to  take  them  with  us,  and  as  we  had  no  evidence 
against  them,  we  let  them  go,  took  the  ship  to  Callao, 


440  A  Ship  of  '49. 

turned  her  over  to  the  authorities,  lodged  a  claim  for  sal 
vage,  and  continued  our  voyage.  When  we  returned 
we  found  the  truth  of  the  story  was  known.  She  had 
been  a  French  trader  from  Marseilles,  owned  by  her  cap 
tain;  her  crew  had  mutinied  in  the  Pacific, -killed  their 
officers  and  the  only  passenger  —  the  owner  of  the  cargo. 
They  had  made  away  with  the  cargo  and  a  treasure  of 
nearly  half  a  million  of  Spanish  gold  for  trading  purposes 
which  belonged  to  the  passenger.  In  course  of  time  the 
ship  was  sold  for  salvage  and  put  into  the  South  Ameri 
can  trade  until  the  breaking  out  of  the  Californian  gold 
excitement,  when  she  was  sent  with  a  cargo  to  San  Fran 
cisco.  That  ship  was  the  Pontiac  which  your  father 
bought." 

A  slight  shudder  ran  through  the  girl's  frame.  "  I 
wish  —  I  wish  you  had  n't  told  me,"  she  said.  "  I  shall 
never  close  my  eyes  again  comfortably  on  board  of  her,  I 
know." 

"  I  would  say  that  you  had  purified  her  of  all  stains  of 
her  past  —  but  there  may  be  one  that  remains.  And  that 
in  most  people's  eyes  would  be  no  detraction.  You  look 
puzzled,  Miss  Nott  —  but  I  am  coming  to  the  explanation 
and  the  end  of  my  story.  A  ship  of  war  was  sent  to  the 
island  to  punish  the  mutineers  and  pirates,  for  such  they 
were,  but  they  could  not  be  found.  A  private  expedition 
was  sent  to  discover  the  treasure  which  they  were  sup 
posed  to  have  buried,  but  in  vain.  About  two  months  ago 
Mr.  Sleight  told  me  one  of  his  shipmasters  had  sent 
him  a  Lascar  sailor  who  had  to  dispose  of  a  valuable 
secret  regarding  the  Pontiac  for  a  percentage.  That 
secret  was  that  the  treasure  was  never  taken  by  the  muti 
neers  out  of  the  Pontiac  !  They  were  about  to  land  and 
bury  it  when  we  boarded  them.  They  took  advantage  of 
their  imprisonment  under  hatches  to  bury  it  in  the  ship. 
They  hid  it  in  the  hold  so  securely  and  safely  that  it  was 


A  Ship  of  '49.  441 

never  detected  by  us  or  the  Callao.  authorities.  I  was 
then  asked,  as  one  who  knew  the  vessel,  to  undertake  a 
private  examination  of  her,  with  a  view  of  purchasing  her 
from  your  father  without  awakening  his  suspicions.  I  as 
sented.  You  have  my  confession  now,  Miss  Nott.  You 
know  my  crime.  I  am  at  your  mercy." 

Rosey's  arm  only  tightened  around  his  own.  Her  eyes 
sought  his.  "  And  you  did  n't  find  anything  ?  "  she 
said. 

The  question  sounded  so  oddly  like  Sleight's,  that  Ren- 
shaw  returned  a  little  stiffly : 

"  I  did  n't  look." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  Rosey  simply. 

"  Because,"  stammered  Renshaw,  with  an  uneasy  con 
sciousness  of  having  exaggerated  his  sentiment,  "  it 
did  n't  seem  honorable  ;  it  did  n't  seem  fair  to  you." 

" Oh  you  silly  !  you  might  have  looked  and  told  me" 

"  But,"  said  Renshaw,  "  do  you  think  that  would  have 
been  fair  to  Sleight  ?  " 

"  As  fair  to  him  as  to  us.  For,  don't  you  see,  it  would  n't 
belong  to  any  of  us.  It  would  belong  to  the  friends  or 
the  family  of  the  man  who  lost  it." 

"  But  there  were  no  heirs,"  replied  Renshaw.  "  That 
was  proved  by  some  impostor  who  pretended  to  be  his 
brother,  and  libelled  the  Pontiac  at  Callao,  but  the  courts 
decided  he.  was  a  lunatic." 

"  Then  it  belongs  to  the  poor  pirates  who  risked  their 
own  lives  for  it,  rather  than  to  Sleight,  who  did  nothing." 
She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  resumed  with 
energy,  "  I  believe  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  that  attack 
last  night." 

"  I  have  thought  so  too,"  said  Renshaw. 

"Then  I  must  go  back  at  once,"  she  continued,  im 
pulsively.  "  Father  must  not  be  left  alone." 

"  Nor  must  you"  said  Renshaw,  quickly.     "  Do  let  me 


44 2  A  Ship  of  '49. 

return  with  you,  and  share  with  you  and  your  father  the 
trouble  I  have  brought  upon  you.  Do  not,"  he  added 
in  a  lower  tone,  "  deprive  me  of  the  only  chance  of  expi 
ating  my  offense,  of  making  myself  worthy  your  forgive 
ness." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Rosey,  lowering  her  lids  and  half 
withdrawing  her  arm,  "  I  am  sure  I  have  nothing  to  for 
give.  You  did  not  believe  the  treasure  belonged  to  us 
any  more  than  to  anybody  else,  until  you  knew  me  "  — 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  young  man,  attempting  to  take 
her  hand. 

"I  mean,"  said  Rosey,  blushing,  and  showing  a  dis 
tracting  row  of  little  teeth  in  one  of  her  infrequent  laughs, 
"oh,  you  know  what  I  mean."  She  withdrew  her  arm 
gently,  and  became  interested  in  the  selection  of  certain 
wayside  bay  leaves  as  they  passed  along.  "  All  the 
same,  I  don't  believe  in  this  treasure,"  she  said  abruptly, 
as  if  to  change  the  subject.  "  I  don't  believe  it  ever  was 
hidden  inside  the  Pontiac." 

"  That  can  be  easily  ascertained  now,"  said  Renshaw. 

"  But  it 's  a  pity  you  did  n't  find  it  out  while  you  were 
about  it,"  said  Rosey.  "  It  would  have  saved  so  much 
talk  and  trouble." 

"  I  have  told  you  why  I  did  n't  search  the  ship,"  re 
sponded  Renshaw,  with  a  slight  bitterness.  "  But  it 
seems  I  could  only  avoid  being  a  great  rascal  by  becoming 
a  great  fool." 

"You  never  intended  to  be  a  rascal,"  said  Rosey, 
earnestly,  "  and  you  could  n't  be  a  fool,  except  in  heeding 
what  a  silly  girl  says.  I  only  meant  if  you  had  taken  me 
into  your  confidence  it  would  have  been  better." 

"  Might  I  not  say  the  same  to  you  regarding  your  friend, 
the  old  Frenchman  ? "  returned  Renshaw.  "  What  if  I 
were  to  confess  to  you  that  I  lately  suspected  him  of 
knowing  the  secret,  and  of  trying  to  gain  your  assist 
ance  ?  " 


A  Ship  of  Vp-  443 

Instead  of  indignantly  repudiating  the  suggestion,  to 
the  young  man's  great  discomfiture,  Rosey  only  knit  her 
pretty  brows,  and  remained  for  some  moments  silent. 
Presently  she  asked  timidly  : 

"  Do  you  think  it  wrong  to  tell  another  person's  secret 
for  their  own  good  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Renshaw,  promptly. 

"  Then  I  '11  tell  you  Monsieur  de  Ferrieres' !  But  only 
because  I  believe  from  what  you  have  just  said  that  he 
will  turn  out  to  have  some  right  to  the  treasure." 

Then  with  kindling  eyes,  and  a  voice  eloquent  with 
sympathy,  Rosey  told  the  story  of  her  accidental  discov 
ery  of  De  Ferrieres'  miserable  existence  in  the  loft. 
Clothing  it  with  the  unconscious  poetry  of  her  fresh, 
young  imagination,  she  lightly  passed  over  his  antique 
gallantry  and  grotesque  weakness,  exalting  only  his  lonely 
sufferings  and  mysterious  wrongs.  Renshaw  listened, 
lost  between  shame  for  his  late  suspicions  and  admira 
tion  for  her  thoughtful  delicacy,  until  she  began  to  speak 
of  De  Ferrieres'  strange  allusions  to  the  foreign  papers 
in  his  portmanteau.  "  I  think  some  were  law  papers,  and 
I  am  almost  certain  I  saw  the  word  Callao  printed  on  one 
of  them." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Renshaw,  thoughtfully.  "  The  old 
Frenchman  has  always  passed  for  a  harmless,  wandering 
eccentric.  I  hardly  think  public  curiosity  has  ever  even 
sought  to  know  his  name,  much  less  his  history.  But  had 
we  not  better  first  try  to  find  if  there  is  any  property 
before  we  examine  his  claims  to  it  ?  " 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Rosey,  with  a  slight  pout ;  "  but 
you  will  find  it  much  easier  to  discover  him  than  his 
treasure.  It 's  always  easier  to  find  the  thing  you  're 
not  looking  for." 

"Until  you  want  it,"  said  Renshaw,  with  sudden 
gravity. 


444  ^  Ship  °f  VP- 

"  How  pretty  it  looks  over  there,"  said  Rosey,  turning 
her  conscious  eyes  to  the  opposite  mountain. 

"  Very." 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  in  the  near 
distance  the  chimney  of  Madrono  Cottage  was  even  now 
visible.  At  the  expected  sight  they  unconsciously  stopped 
—  unconsciously  disappointed.  Rosey  broke  the  embar 
rassing  silence. 

"  There 's  another  way  home,  but  it 's  a  roundabout 
way,"  she  said  timidly. 

"  Let  us  take  it,"  said  Renshaw. 

She  hesitated.  "  The  boat  goes  at  four,  and  we  must 
return  to-night." 

"  The  more  reason  why  we  should  make  the  most  of  our 
time  now,"  said  Renshaw  with  a  faint  smile.  "  To-mor 
row  all  things  may  be  changed ;  to-morrow  you  may  find 
yourself  an  heiress,  Miss  Nott.  To-morrow,"  he  added, 
with  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice,  "  I  may  have  earned 
your  forgiveness,  only  to  say  farewell  to  you  forever.  Let 
me  keep  this  sunshine,  this  picture,  this  companionship 
with  you  long  enough  to  say  now  what  perhaps  I  must 
not  say  to-morrow." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  by  a  common 
instinct  turned  together  into  a  narrow  trail,  scarce  wide 
enough  for  two,  that  diverged  from  the  straight  practical 
path  before  them.  It  was  indeed  a  roundabout  way  home, 
so  roundabout,  in  fact,  that  as  they  wandered  on  it  seemed 
even  to  double  on  its  track,  occasionally  lingering  long 
and  becoming  indistinct  under  the  shadow  of  madrono 
and  willow ;  at  one  time  stopping  blindly  before  a  fallen 
tree  in  the  hollow,  where  they  had  quite  lost  it,  and  had 
to  sit  down  to  recall  it;  a  rough  way,  often  requiring 
the  mutual  help  of  each  other's  hands  and  eyes  to  tread 
together  in  security ;  an  uncertain  way,  not  to  be  found 
without  whispered  consultation  and  concession,  and  yet 


A  Skip  of  '49.  445 

a  way  eventually  bringing  them  hand  in  hand,  happy  and 
hopeful,  to  the  gate  of  Madrono  Cottage.  And  if  thete 
was  only  just  time  for  Rosey  to  prepare  to  take  the  boat, 
it  was  due  to  the  deviousness  of  the  way.  If  a  stray 
curl  was  lying  loose  on  Rosey's  cheek,  and  a  long  hair 
had  caught  in  Renshaw's  button,  it  was  owing  to  the 
roughness  of  the  way ;  and  if  in  the  tones  of  their  voices 
and  jn  the  glances  of  their  eyes  there  was  a  maturer 
seriousness,  it  was  due  to  the  dim  uncertainty  of  the  path 
they  had  traveled,  and  would  hereafter  tread  together. 


IX. 

When  Mr.  Nott  had  satisfied  himself  of  Renshaw's 
departure,  he  coolly  bolted  the  door  at  the  head  of  the 
cornpanion-way,  thus  cutting  off  any  communication  with 
the  lower  deck.  Taking  a  long  rifle  from  the  rack  above 
his  berth,  he  carefully  examined  the  hammer  and  cap,  and 
then  cautiously  let  himself  down  through  the  forehatch  to 
the  deck  below.  After  a  deliberate  survey  of  the  still 
intact  fastenings  of  the  hatch  over  the  forehold,  he  pro 
ceeded  quietly  to  unloose  them  again  with  the  aid  of  the 
tools  that  still  lay  there.  When  the  hatch  was  once  more 
free  he  lifted  it,  and,  withdrawing  a  few  feet  from  the 
opening,  sat  himself  down,  rifle  in  hand.  A  profound 
silence  reigned  throughout  the  lower  deck. 

"  Ye  kin  rize  up  out  o'  that,"  said  Nott  gently. 

There  was  a  stealthy  rustle  below  that  seemed  to  ap 
proach  the  hatch,  and  then  with  a  sudden  bound  the  Las 
car  leaped  on  the  deck.  But  at  the  same  instant  Nott 
covered  him  with  his  rifle.  A  slight  shade  of  disappoint 
ment  and  surprise  had  crossed  the  old  man's  face,  and 
clouded  his  small  round  eyes  at  the  apparition  of  the 
Lascar,  but  his  hand  was  none  the  less  firm  upon  the 


446  A  Ship  of  '49. 

trigger  as  the  frightened  prisoner  sank  on  his  knees,  with 
his  hands  clasped  in  the  attitude  of  supplication  for 
mercy. 

"  Ef  you  're  thinkin'  o'  skippin'  afore  I  've  done  with 
yer,"  said  Nott  with  labored  gentleness,  "  I  oughter 
warn  ye  that  it  's  my  style  to  drop  Injins  at  two  hundred 
yards,  and  this  deck  ain't  anywhere  more  'n  fifty.  It  's 
an  uncomfortable  style,  a  nasty  style  —  but  it  's  wj^tyle. 
I  thought  I  'd  tell  yer,  so  yer  could  take  it  easy  where  you 
air.  Where  's  Ferrers  ? " 

Even  in  the  man's  insane  terror,  his  utter  bewilderment 
at  the  question  was  evident.  "  Ferrers  ?  "  he  gasped  j 
"  don't  know  him,  I  swear  to  God,  boss." 

"P'r'aps,"  said  Nott,  with  infinite  cunning,  "yer  don't 
know  the  man  ez  kem  into  the  loft  from  the  alley  last 
night  —  p'r'aps  yer  did  n't  see  an  airy  Frenchman  with  a 
dyed  mustache,  eh  ?  I  thought  that  would  fetch  ye  !  "  he 
continued,  as  the  man  started  at  the  evidence  that  his 
vision  of  last  night  was  a  living  man.  "  P'r'aps  you  and 
him  did  n't  break  into  this  ship  last  night,  jist  to  run  off 
with  my  darter  Rosey  ?  P'r'aps  yer  don't  know  Rosey, 
eh  ?  P'r'aps  yer  don't  know  ez  Ferrers  wants  to  marry 
her,  and  hez  been  hangin'  round  yer  ever  since  he  left  — 
eh?" 

Scarcely  believing  the  evidence  of  his  senses  that  the 
old  man  whose  treasure  he  had  been  trying  to  steal  was 
utterly  ignorant  of  his  real  offense,  and  yet  uncertain  of 
the  penalty  of  the  other  crime  of  which  he  was  accused, 
the  Lascar  writhed  his  body  and  stammered  vaguely, 
"  Mercy !  Mercy  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Nott,  cautiously,  "  ez  I  reckon  the  hide 
of  a  dead  Chinee  nigger  ain't  any  more  vallyble  than  that 
of  a  dead  Injin,  I  don't  care  ef  I  let  up  on  yer —  seein' 
the  cussedness  ain't  yours.  But  ef  I  let  yer  off  this  once, 
you  must  take  a  message  to  Ferrers  from  me." 


A  Ship  of  '49.  447 

"Let  me  off  this  time,  boss,  and  I  swear  to  God  I  will," 
said  the  Lascar  eagerly. 

"  Ye  kin  say  to  Ferrers  —  let  me  see  "  —  deliberated 
Nott,  leaning  on  his  rifle  with  cautious  reflection.  "  Ye 
kin  say  to  Ferrers  like  this  — sez  you,  'Ferrers,'  sez  you, 
'  the  old  man  sez  that  afore  you  went  away  you  sez  to 
him,  sez  you,  "  I  take  my  honor  with  me,"  sez  you '  — 
have  you  got  that  ?  "  interrupted  Nott  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  boss." 

"  '  I  take  my  honor  with  me,'  sez  you,"  repeated  Nott 
slowly.  "  '  Now,'  sez  you —  '  the  old  man  sez,  sez  he  — 
tell  Ferrers,  sez  he,  that  his  honor  havin'  run  away  agin, 
he  sends  it  back  to  him,  and  ef  he  ever  ketches  it  around 
after  this,  he  '11  shoot  it  on  sight.'  Hev  yer  got  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  stammered  the  bewildered  captive. 

"Then  git!" 

The  Lascar  sprang  to  his  feet  with  the  agility  of  a 
panther,  leaped  through  the  hatch  above  him,  and  disap 
peared  over  the  bow  of  the  ship  with  an  unhesitating 
directness  that  showed  that  every  avenue  of  escape  had 
been  already  contemplated  by  him.  Slipping  lightly  from 
the  cutwater  to  the  ground,  he  continued  his  flight,  only 
stopping  at  the  private  office  of  Mr.  Sleight. 

When  Mr.  Renshaw  and  Rosey  Nott  arrived  on  board 
the  Pontiac  that  evening,  they  were  astonished  to  find 
the  passage  before  the  cabin  completely  occupied  with 
trunks  and  boxes,  and  the  bulk  of  their  household  goods 
apparently  in  the  process  of  removal.  Mr.  Nott,  who 
was  superintending  the  work  of  two  Chinamen,  betrayed 
not  only  no  surprise  at  the  appearance  of  the  young  peo 
ple,  but  not  the  remotest  recognition  of  their  own  be 
wilderment  at  his  occupation. 

"  Kalkilatin',"  he  remarked  casually  to  his  daughter, 
"  you  'd  rather  look  arter  your  fixins,  Rosey ;  I  've  left 
'em  till  the  last.  P'r'aps  yer  and  Mr.  Renshaw  would  n't 


448  A  Ship  of  '49. 

mind  sittin'  down  on  that  locker  until  I  Ve  strapped  this 
yer  box." 

"  But  what  does  it  all  mean,  father  ?  "  said  Rosey,  taking 
the  old  man  by  the  lappels  of  his  pea-jacket,  and  slightly 
emphasizing  her  question.  "  What  in  the  name  of  good 
ness  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Breakin'  camp,  Rosey  dear,  breakin'  camp,  jist  ez  we 
uster,"  replied  Nott  with  cheerful  philosophy.  "  Kinder 
like  ole  times,  ain't  it?  Lord,  Rosey,"  he  continued, 
stopping  and  following  up  the  reminiscence,  with  the  end 
of  the  rope  in  his  hand  as  if  it  were  a  clue,  "  don't  ye 
mind  that  day  we  started  outer  Livermore  Pass,  and  seed 
the  hull  o'  the  Kaliforny  coast  stretchin' yonder  —  eh? 
But  don't  ye  be  skeered,  Rosey  dear,"  he  added  quickly, 
as  if  in  recognition  of  the  alarm  expressed  in  her  face. 
*'  I  ain't  turning  ye  outer  house  and  home ;  I  've  jist  hired 
that  'ere  Madrono  Cottage  from  the  Peters  ontil  we  kin 
look  round." 

"But  you're  not  leaving  the  ship,  father,"  continued 
Rosey,  impetuously.  "  You  have  n't  sold  it  to  that  man 
Sleight  ? " 

Mr.  Nott  rose  and  carefully  closed  the  cabin -door. 
Then  drawing  a  large  wallet  from  his  pocket,  he  said, 
"  It 's  sing'lar  ye  should  hev  got  the  name  right  the  first 
pop,  ain't  it,  Rosey  ?  but  it 's  Sleight,  sure  enough,  all  the 
time.  This  yer  check,"  he  added,  producing  a  paper 
from  the  depths  of  the  wallet,  "  this  yer  check  for  25,000 
dollars  is  wot  he  paid  for  it  only  two  hours  ago." 

"  But,"  said  Renshaw,  springing  to  his  feet  furiously, 
"  you  're  duped,  swindled  —  betrayed  !  " 

"  Young  man,"  said  Nott,  throwing  a  certain  dignity 
into  his  habitual  gesture  of  placing  his  hands  on  Ren- 
shaw's  shoulders,  "  I  bought  this  yer  ship  five  years  ago 
jist  ez  she  stood  for  8,000  dollars.  Kalkilatin'  wot  she 
cost  me  in  repairs  and  taxes,  and  wot  she  brought  me  in 


A  Ship  of  Vp«  449 

since  then,  accordin'  to  my  figgerin',  I  don't  call  a  clear 
profit  of  15,000  dollars  much  of  a  swindle." 

"  Tell  him  all,"  said  Rosey,  quickly,  more  alarmed  at 
Renshaw's  despairing  face  than  at  the  news  itself.  "  Tell 
him  everything,  Dick  —  Mr.  Renshaw  ;  it  may  not  be  too 
late." 

In  a  voice  half  choked  with  passionate  indignation 
Renshaw  hurriedly  repeated  the  story  of  the  hidden  treas 
ure,  and  the  plot  to  rescue  it,  prompted  frequently  by 
Rosey's  tenacious  memory  and  assisted  by  her  deft  and 
tactful  explanations.  But  to  their  surprise  the  imper 
turbable  countenance  of  Abner  Nott  never  altered  ;  a 
slight  moisture  of  kindly  paternal  tolerance  of  their  ex 
travagance  glistened  in  his  little  eyes,  but  nothing  more. 

"  Ef  there  was  a  part  o'  this  ship,  a  plank  or  a  bolt,  ez  I 
don't  know,  ez  I  hev  n't  touched  with  my  own  hand,  and 
looked  into  with  my  own  eyes,  thar  might  be  suthin'  in  that 
story.  I  don't  let  on  to  be  a  sailor  like  youy  but  ez  I 
know  the  ship  ez  a  boy  knows  his  first  hoss,  as  a  woman 
knows  her  first  babby,  I  .reckon  thar  ain't  no  treasure 
yer,  onless  it  was  brought  into  the  Pontiac  last  night  by 
them  chaps." 

"  But  are  you  mad  ?  Sleight  would  not  pay  three  times 
the  value  of  the  ship  to-day  if  he  were  not  positive  !  And 
that  positive  knowledge  was  gained  last  night  by  the  vil 
lain  who  broke  into  the  Pontiac  —  no  doubt  the  Lascar." 

"  Surely,"  said  Nott,  meditatively.  "  The  Lascar ! 
There  's  suthin'  in  that.  That  Lascar  I  fastened  down 
in  the  hold  last  night  unbeknownst  to  you,  Mr.  Renshaw, 
and  let  him  out  again  this  morning  ekally  unbeknownst." 

"  And  you  let  him  carry  his  information  to  Sleight  — 
without  a  word !  "  said  Renshaw,  with  a  sickening  sense 
of  Nott's  utter  fatuity. 

"  I  sent  him  back  with  a  message  to  the  man  he  kem 
from,"  said  Nott,  winking  both  his  eyes  at  Renshaw  sig 
nificantly,  and  making  signs  behind  his  daughter's  back. 


450  A  Ship  of  '49. 

Rosey,  conscious  of  her  lover's  irritation,  and  more 
eager  to  soothe  his  impatience  than  from  any  faith  in  her 
suggestion,  interfered.  "  Why  not  examine  the  place 
where  he  was  concealed  ?  he  may  have  left  some  traces 
of  his  search." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  "  Seein'  ez  I  've 
turned  the  Pontiac  over  to  Sleight  jist  as  it  stands,  I 
don't  know  ez  it 's  'zactly  on  the  square,"  said  Nott  doubt 
fully. 

"  You  Ve  a  right  to  know  at  least  what  you  deliver  to 
him,"  interrupted  Renshaw,  brusquely.  "  Bring  a  lan 
tern." 

Followed  by  Rosey,  Renshaw  and  Nott  hurriedly 
sought  the  lower  deck  and  the  open  hatch  of  the  forehold. 
The  two  men  leaped  down  first  with  the  lantern,  and  then 
assisted  Rosey  to  descend.  Renshaw  took  a  step  for 
ward  and  uttered  a  cry. 

The  rays  of  the  lantern  fell  on  the  ship's  side.  The 
Lascar  had,  during  his  forced  seclusion,  put  back  the 
boxes  of  treasure  and  replaced  the  planking,  yet  not  so 
carefully  but  that  the  quick  eye  of  Renshaw  had  discov 
ered  it.  The  next  moment  he  had  stripped  away  the 
planking  again,  and  the  hurriedly  restored  box  which  the 
Lascar  had  found  fell  to  the  deck,  scattering  part  of  its 
ringing  contents.  Rosey  turned  pale  ;  Renshaw's  eyes 
flashed  fire ;  only  Abner  Nott  remained  quiet  and  impas 
sive. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  you  have  been  duped  ?  "  said  Ren 
shaw,  passionately. 

To  their  surprise  Mr.  Nott  stooped  down,  and  pick 
ing  up  one  of  the  coins  handed  it  gravely  to  Renshawr. 
"  Would  ye  mind  heftin'  that  'ere  coin  in  your  hand  — 
feelin'  it,  bitin'  it,  scrapin'  it  with  a  knife,  and  kinder 
seem'  how  it  compares  with  other  coins  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Renshaw. 


A  Skip  of  '49.  45 1 

"  I  mean  that  that  yer  coin  —  that  all  the  coins  in  this 
yer  box,  that  all  the  coins  in  them  other  boxes  —  and 
thar  's  forty  on  'em  —  is  all  and  every  one  of  'em  coun 
terfeits  ! " 

The  piece  dropped  unconsciously  from  Renshaw's 
hand,  and  striking  another  that  lay  on  the  deck  gave  out 
a  dull,  suspicious  ring. 

"  They  waz  counterfeits  got  up  by  them  Dutch  super 
cargo  sharps  for  dealin'  with  the  Injins  and  cannibals  and 
South  Sea  heathens  ez  bows  down  to  wood  and  stone.  It 
satisfied  them  ez  well  ez  them  buttons  ye  puts  in  mission 
ary  boxes,  I  reckon,  and,  'cepting  ez  freight,  don't  cost 
nothin'.  I  found  'em  tucked  in  the  ribs  o'  the  old  Pon- 
tiac  when  I  bought  her,  and  I  nailed  'em  up  in  thar  lest 
they  should  fall  into*  dishonest  hands.  It 's  a  lucky  thing, 
Mr.  Renshaw,  that  they  comes  into  the  honest  fingers  of 
a  square  man  like  Sleight  —  ain't  it  ?  " 

He  turned  his  small,  guileless  eyes  upon  Renshaw  with 
such  child-like  simplicity  that  it  checked  the  hysterical 
laugh  that  was  rising  to  the  young  man's  lips. 

"  But  did  any  one  know  of  this  but  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  not.  I  once  suspicioned  that  old  Cap'en 
Bowers,  who  was  always  foolin'  round  the  hold  yer,  must 
hev  noticed  the  bulge  in  the  casin',  but  when  he  took  to 
axin'  questions  I  axed  others  —  ye  know  my  style,  Rosey  ? 
Come." 

He  led  the  way  grimly  back  to  the  cabin,  the  young 
people  following ;  but  turning  suddenly  at  the  companion 
way  he  observed  Renshaw's  arm  around  the  waist  of  his 
daughter.  He  said  nothing  until  they  had  reached  the 
cabin,  when  he  closed  the  door  softly,  and  looking  at 
them  both  gently,  said  with  infinite  cunning : 

"  Ef  it  is  n't  too*  late,  Rosey,  ye  kin  tell  this  young  man 
ez  how  I  forgive  him  for  havin'  diskivered  THE  TREASURE 
of  the  Pontiac." 


452  A  Skip  of  '49. 

It  was  nearly  eighteen  months  afterwards  that  Mr.  Nott 
one  morning  entered  the  room  of  his  son-in-law  at  Man- 
drofio  Cottage.  Drawing  him  aside,  he  said  with  his  old 
air  of  mystery,  "  Now  ez  Rosey  's  ailin'  and  don't  seem  to 
be  so  eager  to  diskiver  what 's  become  of  Mr.  Ferrers,  I 
don't  mind  tellin'  ye  that  over  a  year  ago  I  heard  he  died 
suddenly  in  Sacramento.  Thar  was  suthin'  in  the  paper 
about  his  bein'  a  lunatic  and  claimin'  to  be  a  relation  to 
somebody  on  the  Pontiac ;  but  likes  ez  not  it 's  only  the 
way  those  newspaper  fellows  got  hold  of  the  story  of  his 
wantin'  to  marry  Rosey." 


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UM^i 

'JUUJ 

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Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.          13 

Alfred  Tennyson.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Portrait  and 
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14         Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books. 

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